The Last
by Rigil Kent
Summary: All people leave a legacy. For some, it simply has a more lasting impression. A tale of the DC Universe with the Trinity at its heart. Ultimately SM/WW
1. Year One: World's Finest

**Year One: World's Finest**

**Author's Note: **This is intended to be a fairly lengthy story (current plan is 30 chapters of varying length) using _Man of Steel _as a springboard for a "legacy" story. I'll be picking and choosing what to use from the DCU, whether its from pre-Flashpoint, to nu52, to the DCAU, to whatever else I feel like. At its heart, this will also be a SM/WW story , so keep that in mind.

And yeah, we're going to go ahead and start with my treatment of MoS 2...

More in depth information below.

* * *

**Metropolis Rebuilds in Wake of Zod Invasion**

_Published September 25. 2013 / Associated Press_

METROPOLIS, N.Y. - President Obama marked the three month anniversary of the failed Kryptonian invasion with a visit to Metropolis and a promise of additional federal funding to assist in the rebuilding efforts. Speaking before a crowd of survivors, he pledged to ensure that the tragedy which claimed the lives over twenty thousand and leveled most of downtown Metropolis would not be repeated.

"The United States stands with Metropolis in this dark hour," Obama said. "The entire world stands with Metropolis."

Obama refused to comment on the so-called "Superman" although his administration insists that the Kryptonian named Kal-El was instrumental in stopping General Zod and has been equally helpful in the months since.

Following the speech, the president toured the most heavily damaged parts of the city.

\S/

HE WAS EXHAUSTED.

Sixty-three consecutive eighteen hour days of hard, physical labor was taxing, even to him, but Clark knew it was far more than that. Since Zod, he'd avoided wearing the Suit except when absolutely necessary – it was easier to move among the humans without it if he was completely honest and right now, Metropolis needed a tireless, inhumanly strong emergency worker a lot more than it needed a _Superman. _The worst part, though, the part that kept him working long past the moment when he felt like collapsing in bed and sleeping for a year was knowing that far too much of this destruction was his fault. Why hadn't he made more of an effort to minimize the damage? Why hadn't he tried to take his battle with Zod out of the city itself? How many had died because he hadn't been careful enough?

"Third shift!" the construction foreman bellowed. "Let's pack it up! Sun's setting!"

Adjusting his hard hat – as if he needed it; still, regs were regs and if he wanted to stay under the radar, it wouldn't do to attract too much attention – Clark fell into step behind the other workers. They were all big men, his size or even taller though more than a few of them carried a lot of extra weight around their bellies, and at any other time, most of them would have laughing and joking with one another, despite their exhaustion. Their grim expressions were to be expected: spending all day knee-deep in the ashes of a once-great city drained any hint of humor from even the most robust of souls.

Clark waited until no one was looking his way – one advantage of super senses was always knowing when someone was looking at him - and took to the skies. He kept his initial speed low so as to avoid causing even more damage, but poured on the acceleration once he was clear of the city. It took only a few minutes before he reached Kansas airspace and, as expected, there were three surveillance drones circling over the greater Topeka area. Yesterday, he'd intentionally broken the sound barrier above that city, just to see what might happen. Swanwick had clearly noticed and, despite Clark's agreement to lend assistance to the U.S. government from time to time, the general was obviously still trying to identify him. It was frustrating to still be so untrusted … but all too understandable.

He reached the farm a few seconds later, dropping down out of the sky twenty miles out of Smallville and hugging the ground the rest of the way. Even before he landed, Clark could tell his mom was asleep – her heartbeat was steady and rhythmic – so he avoided the front door and floated toward his open bedroom window. Rebuilding the house … or at least making it livable again had been his first action once the bruises faded, but it was just a patchwork job. He could do better.

Clark grimaced. That was becoming his mantra lately, wasn't it? He could do better.

No. He _would _do better. He would show Earth that not all Kryptonians were beings to fear. He would prove himself worthy of Earth.

And, by God, he would make his father – _both _of them – proud.

But first, he needed to get the military off his tail.

\S/

**Three Months Later**

Clark hated these debriefings.

Ever since he'd agreed to help out Swanwick and the Department of Metahuman Affairs with rogue superhumans in the hopes that it would help rehabilitate his image with humanity, these sorts of weekly meeting with the general to review the events of the previous seven days had slowly become a scheduled thing. Clark wasn't exactly sure how that happened but suspected it was Swanwick's laid back 'I'm not a threat' vibe. Lois had warned him early on that the general had a reputation for being a manipulative, sneaky bastard, though he at least was considered fairly honorable among her father's clique of senior military command.

The debriefings wouldn't have been that bad if Swanwick didn't invite Luthor along as often as he did. Ostensibly, the man was just an advisor who the U.S. government paid billions to develop weapons, but Lois was positive Lex was bad news even if she couldn't actually prove it. From the moment he first spoke with Luthor, Clark knew she was right. There wasn't any single thing about the man that was really wrong – Luthor was charming, intelligent, witty, and knew how to play a room – but something about him simply rubbed Clark the wrong way. It certainly didn't help that, thanks to his enhanced senses, Clark could tell when the billionaire was lying to him … which was fairly frequently, actually.

Like right now.

"From everything we can tell," Luthor was saying, "this … Bat person only operates in Gotham and possesses a number of metahuman abilities that make him difficult to apprehend." Swanwick frowned – he was doing a lot of that lately and Clark wasn't sure why; in fact, something had been off about him for several weeks – and Lex shrugged in response to the unspoken question. "My people think he's a stealth-based meta – he can turn invisible, teleport and might even be able to change his appearance. There are even unsubstantiated reports that he can fly." This last part was said with a sidelong glance in Clark's direction and, as was always the case, Luthor's heartbeat changed ever so slightly.

"Wayne Enterprises also recently reported a hijacking of several million dollars' worth of equipment that the authorities believe were taken by this Bat-Man," Swanwick interjected. "A considerable amount of this equipment is military grade so we can't rule out the possibility that terrorism is involved."

"I'm more interested in getting confirmation that this Bat-Man actually exists," Luthor said. The smile he gave Swanwick never touched his eyes. "To be honest," he added, "I suspect the internet theories about this just being a police operation using a number of different specially-trained personnel to have some merit. The captain in charge of Gotham's taskforce to apprehend this vigilante has Special Forces training, I believe." This was said with a questioning glance in Swanwick's direction and the general hesitated for a heartbeat too long.

"I served briefly with Jim Gordon," Swanwick said slowly. He frowned, as if he were considering the option. "He is certainly capable of this sort of asymmetrical thinking."

"I'll look into it," Clark said flatly. Luthor's heartbeat jumped once more, though there was little sign of it on his face. Swanwick nodded and stepped aside so Clark could depart.

"I still don't trust him," Luthor said once Clark was out of the room. They remained oblivious to just how sensitive his senses were and he'd never felt the need to fill them in. "How do we know those other Kryptonians are really in this … Phantom Zone?" Clark took to the sky, ears still attuned to the conversation taking place behind him.

"You've reviewed Doctor Hamilton's research notes." Swanwick's tone was flat and devoid of the humor he'd shown flashes of since Clark met him. "So far, Kal-El has shown no inclination toward deception."

"That you've noticed." Luthor was silent for only a moment. "I still don't trust him."

\S/

Gotham City was a pit.

Lois had warned him when he told her about his meeting with Swanwick and Luthor, and he'd thought he was prepared after spending a couple of hours researching the city online, but the moment he stepped off the bus and got his first real look at the city from ground level, Clark realized he hadn't been ready at all. A tangible sense of despair and fear seemed to hang around the inhabitants, and he could not help but to notice how few dared to make eye contact. He was nearly swarmed by desperate-looking prostitutes as he exited the bus station – they were all too skinny and even without using his enhanced senses, he could tell all of them were drug addicts – who snarled curses at him the moment they realized he wasn't interested. By the time he reached the hotel that he'd already made reservations for, he'd fended off five separate attempts to lift his wallet and a pair of mugging attempts. The urge to get the hell out of this city _now _was hard to suppress and he couldn't help but to wonder if a shower would be enough to wash the stink of Gotham off.

The following day was even worse than the first. He spent most of it prowling around the East End district since it was here that this Bat-Man was most commonly sighted, and it was only due to his sheer size and abilities that he did not end up another statistic. The entire district felt like a slum, with prostitutes on every corner, drug-dealers in every alley, enforcers for local criminal organizations bullying everyone they encountered, and the poor unfortunates who lived here simply try to get by. Broken bottles littered the sidewalk and entire tenements were filled with homeless. After the third body he stumbled upon, Clark stopped calling 9-1-1 on his cell to report it, especially since the dispatchers he'd spoken to sounded both indifferent and terribly overworked.

At first, the locals seemed openly hostile toward him, answering his questions with insults and threats, but somehow, word got around that he was a reporter, and the tone of the interviews began to change. Once they were satisfied he wasn't an undercover vice cop, the hookers answered eagerly – the Bat-Man wasn't a threat to them and were, according to more than a few of them, responsible for beating the hell out of their abusive pimps. Several of the local shopowners were just as effusive with their praise – one, a bent-backed, white-haired grandmother who had a rundown pawn shop, told an unlikely story about seeing the Bat pay homage to where the Waynes had been murdered twenty or so years ago, which only convinced the old woman that he was Gotham's avenging spirit here to bring justice to the scum who had ruined the city. She had other theories – he was a Kryptonian like that Superman fellow or maybe a creature brought back from the grave by the last survivors of the Miagani – but Clark excused himself and made a discreet exit.

After going ahead and buying a Gotham Knights jacket from her. He paid too much for it and gave it to the first homeless person he encountered after. It didn't fit anyway.

If the people just trying to eke out an existence approved of the Bat, the criminal element most certainly did not. He managed to impress one of the local gangs with a foolhardy stunt – a judicious use of his enhanced speed and strength to take away a gun from one of the kids who threatened to shoot him – and they quickly claimed the Bat wasn't an issue. Even without his senses, he could tell they were lying. Half winced anytime someone claimed to have met the Bat or beat him in a fight, and at least that number constantly watched the roofs, as if they expected a bat-shaped figure to swoop down on them at any moment. This encounter opened the door to other members in the criminal element and, by dusk, Clark had interviewed more thugs and would-be murderers than he had ever met in his life before now. Each and every one of them tried to hide how terrified they were of this Bat-Man, but none of them succeeded, and Clark returned to his hotel with more questions than answers. From everything he'd learned, this Bat-Man was more like Robin Hood than a terrorist, although to be fair, wasn't Robin Hood considered a criminal by the government of his day?

He watched the local news while he worked: WayneTech was announcing a new software platform that was supposed to make Windows obsolete; Captain Gordon of the GCPD was credited for saving some kids from a deranged kidnapper who had just been released from Arkham that day; district attorney Dent announced his intent to push forward with bribery and corruption charges against the mayor who continued to plead innocence; and then, the kicker: the White House officially canceled the president's planned tour of Gotham due to 'security concerns' which made him the sixth president in a row who had avoided visiting the city. The local anchors savaged the president's decision, coming just short of calling him a coward, which Clark thought ironic considering their earlier remarks about him following a precedent set by previous administrations. For that matter, if he wasn't bulletproof, Clark didn't think _he'd _want to visit this city.

In mid-diatribe from the pretty anchor, the screen on the television fuzzed and froze. Barely a second later, the image being displayed changed to a green question mark that began rotating. Clark glanced up.

"Citizens of Gotham," a male voice announced, "this is _the Riddler._" The question mark continued to revolve. "Riddle me this, riddle me that," the person continued, "who's afraid of the big bad bat?" The unseen man laughed. "Because the police have been woefully inept, I am turning to this, the idiot box that holds so many of you hostage, to advise you that money cannot buy happiness … so I have taken all of yours. Kings and queens may cling to power and the jester's got his call. But as you may discover, the common one outranks them all."

Clark was in the suit and out the window before this so-called Riddler had finished his mocking remark. The sun had already vanished behind the clouds and Clark arced up into the sky, focusing his enhanced senses on the abandoned factory he'd noticed during the day's work. Dried and peeling, the paint on the massive Ace playing card on the factory's roof had demanded notice. Exactly as he expected, deep within the bowels of the building, a single man sat before a wide bank of computers. Above him, there were a half dozen other men, setting up what looked to be lanes of fire and places of concealment. Clark smirked. This … Riddler intended to ambush the Bat-Man.

He struck the roof at just under two hundred miles per hour, smashing through the concrete as if it were simply wet tissue paper. Two of the ambushers opened fire immediately, screaming as they sprayed wildly, and Clark straightened from his landing crouch and started walking forward, ignoring the soft rain of bullets at they struck his crest and fell to the floor. He waited until there was no way for them to have _not _realized who he was before speaking.

"Surrender and you won't be harmed," he said flatly. All but one of the men on this floor immediately threw down their weapons and, after an extra moment of consideration, the last man did the same. Clark pointed to the ring of debris surrounding the hole in the roof. "Kneel there and do not move until the police arrive." When they hesitated, he concentrated on the ever-present heat just behind his eyes. His vision briefly fuzzed out – it always did when he used this ability and additional concentration was required to actually see the things he was burning – and he frowned before pushing the heat back. Just the hint of red was enough and the men scrambled to obey.

The Riddler had backed up to the wall and stared with open horror as Clark tore the door to his sanctum off its metal hinges and tossed it aside. Unlike the thugs upstairs who were still kneeling – Clark checked – this man wasn't dressed in urban camouflage but rather wore a ludicrous green suit with a black tie that had a prominent green question mark upon it. Strangely, he also wore a domino mask, also green.

"You are _not _the Bat," the man said with wide eyes. Clark smirked.

"Are you sure?" he asked. He cast his eyes around the room and noted a cell phone. As he strode across the floor to retrieve, he eyed the computer monitors set against the wall … and his good humor dwindled. "When were you intended on broadcasting the riddle?" he demanded with a frown. Riddler's heartbeat trebled and Clark looked at him.

"Thirty minutes," the criminal replied. "How did you know to come here?" he asked.

Clark didn't answer.

But he had a good idea who was responsible.

\S/

Captain Gordon was not a happy man.

The sandy-haired police detective was solidly built, with an easy grace that Clark had seen in many soldiers, but walked with a very slight limp that hinted at an explanation for why he was _former_ military. He wasted no time in having the Riddler and his goons hustled away to waiting squad cars, and glowered at the hole in the ceiling. From where he floated some five hundred feet above the Monarch Playing Card Company factory, Clark could see the captain's face – Gordon went from confused, to angry, to resigned in a matter of seconds – and decided to make his presence known. He dropped through the cloud cover and came to a floating stop just above the roof where only the captain could see him.

"Hello, Captain," he said.

"Is there a reason you're in Gotham?" Gordon asked without preamble. This close, Clark could smell tobacco and cheap cologne, as well as hints of a more feminine scent that were fading. "Gotham's in bad enough shape without you coming along and doing what you did to Metropolis." Clark blinked.

"That was Zod, sir," he replied calmly. "I'm trying to help." Gordon glowered and fished out a pack of cigarettes.

"You can help by leaving," the captain said flatly. "I already have one nut dressing up like a bat," he added and Clark noted how the man's heartbeat altered slightly. "We don't need someone like you."

"As you wish, sir," Clark replied. He began _pushing_ against gravity and steadily rose. "I apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused you." He was out of sight in less than a second but smiled slightly at Gordon's next remarks, comments he doubted anyone else was meant to hear.

"At least this one has manners."

Rather than returning to his hotel room, Clark concentrated on the strange sensation in his chest that allowed him to defy gravity and floated quietly for a long moment. Gotham stretched out before him like a glittering painting and even at this distance, he could hear the sound of sirens without having to utilize his special talents. Anger swirled within his stomach and frustration – he could not blame Gordon for the man's distrust of him, not with the sheer damage wrought in the wake of the Kryptonians led by Zod, and it once again made him wonder if he was doing the right thing. Should he spend even more time in the Suit? There were so many people who needed help, who needed someone to defend them or save them … but what right did he have to do that? If he did too much, would they come to rely on him? Would his very presence stifle their creativity and ability? Jor-El had meant for him to be a symbol of hope … but how could he do that when humanity was so afraid of him?

"People are afraid of what they don't understand," his father had told him and he had taken that warning to heart. All too often, it had turned out to be true though there were the occasional glimmers of hope – Lois was one of the first in a long time who had not freaked out completely when she learned what he was.

A shrill, high-pitched noise pierced his musings and drew his attention toward the freight yards near the center of the city. There was no immediate cause of the sound and he was just about to turn away when a trio of cars suddenly squealed to a halt, disgorging what looked like a veritable platoon of heavily armed thugs wearing ill-fitting suits. Clark hesitated only for the span of a single heartbeat – Gordon would not be pleased, but these men meant to murder people – and he threw himself forward at just barely subsonic speeds. A quick glance with his enhanced senses verified the target vehicle wasn't occupied and he landed on its hood with crushing force and an explosion of noise that threw four of the assassins to the ground. The rest oriented toward him quickly and, despite clearly recognizing the crest of the House of El, opened fire with their illegal submachine guns. Clark straightened and then blurred forward, tearing the weapons free and crushing them into useless scrap. The bravest of the lot drew a knife and lunged forward, shouting his defiance.

Clark let the man break the knife against his chest before casually backhanding the criminal. None of them realized how much fine control it required to do that without turning the man into Jello and he wasn't of a mind to tell them.

"This ends now," he growled, calling the fire to his eyes once more. He raked the heat vision across the trunk of one of the intact cars, melting wide, gaping holes in the metal and turning the extra weapons inside into so much slag. The heat was so sudden, so intense, that the explosives within were simply vaporized rather than detonating. His face still creased in a scowl, Clark turned away from the now retreating thugs and glared at the armed security guards who had belatedly rushed out to respond. They could have been clones of the men now running and Clark suddenly realized that this entire facility was probably owned by one of Gotham's many criminal syndicates. This had been gang versus gang …

And someone had led him straight to it.

He rocketed up into the sky without a word, vanishing between blinks of an eye, and soared through the stratosphere angrily. Gotham was seven hundred miles from Metropolis, but he covered the distance in a matter of minutes. Dropping down from the sky, he slowed his speed to subsonic and darted toward Lois' apartment. She answered his knock with bleary eyes.

\S/

Lois hurried him out of her apartment less than an hour after he arrived – she was supposed to be interviewing the governor today and absolutely had to get some sleep if she was going to be sharp enough to catch him in the lies she expected him to provide when questioned about the campaign irregularities uncovered by the Planet – so Clark returned to Gotham and his hotel room. There was no transmitter hidden in the walls as he'd feared and the television was just a television, so he turned on ESPN and watched the tail end of a football game between two teams he could honestly care less about. Sleep was out of the question, especially with the far too routine sounds of gunfire in the distance and the constant wail of sirens. How even a normal human managed to tune this noise out was beyond him.

The following day should have been a repeat of the first, but Clark decided to go to WayneTech instead of doing more man-on-the-street interviews. His Planet credentials worked and he soon found himself chatting with one of WT's junior executives about the stolen merchandise. The list of missing stolen equipment was eclectic – there were three prototype suits of light battle armor intended for the infantrymen of the future, a wide variety of electronic equipment that ran the gamut from eavesdropping and surveillance to miniaturized low-light gear, and a host of other non-lethal crowd control weapons. It was the latter section of the list that honestly interested Clark the most since he couldn't think of a reason why a terrorist would actually want such a thing.

Mister White wasn't especially impressed with his progress when he reported in later that day, though he was certainly curious about the angle Clark outlined. The rumored Bat-Man had never been more than tabloid fodder until recently – after Zod and the other Kryptonians forced Clark into the limelight, it was harder to ignore the notion of a guy dressed up like a bat running around Gotham – and gave the greenlight for Clark to keep digging.

But Clark kept running into dead ends.

The GCPD refused to comment – the official stance on the Bat-Man was that he was an urban legend, and that Gotham did not and would not tolerate vigilantes – and none of the people who would go on record about the Bat were remotely believable. Clark took to lurking in the clouds at night, using his enhanced vision to try and locate this guy, and even that wasn't very fruitful. Oh, he stepped in and stopped more than a few crimes, but made sure to do so at speeds too quick for normal people to even comprehend so Gordon wouldn't have a panic attack, but the Bat remained elusive. Clark began to wonder if he even existed.

On the sixth day of his investigation – the last day as Mister White had made it clear the Planet was done with this story unless something major broke – an immense explosion tore open one of the numerous heavy cargo ships sitting in the Port of Gotham. Clark didn't even hesitate to dive toward the crippled ship and he spent the next three and a half hours ensuring the fire didn't spread to the other ships in the area. As the largest inland general cargo port in America, Gotham's docks were always busy and Clark had little doubt more than a small portion of the shipping was illegal, but that wasn't important at the moment.

His presence drew quite a number of cameras and onlookers – even Gordon showed up with the mayor and commissioner – but, for a change, none of the people in charge screamed for him to leave. In fact, the mayor was effusive in his praise. If you listened to him, the city itself would have been burned to the ground if it wasn't for Clark. When he climbed into the sky, satisfied that he'd done all he could to help, Clark let his forced smile fade. Barely thirty minutes into the rescue efforts, he'd discovered the remnants of an explosive aboard the ship and it took him another hour to discover that the ship itself was manned with only a skeleton crew who would have had plenty of time to escape if the ship couldn't be saved. This entire event had been a distraction.

A quick patrol over the city revealed the true target: one of LexCorp's subsidiaries had been broken into. Clark peered through the walls and noted with a dark frown that whoever was responsible was long gone. He shook his head in muted admiration and returned to the hotel room.

Instantly, Clark knew someone else had been here. He scanned the room quickly, finding no less than four bugs, one of which was actually a miniature camera spliced into the hotel's cable network. The bugs themselves matched the models of those stolen from the WayneTech facility so Clark squared his shoulders and looked directly into the tiny camera.

"I'm not your enemy," he said calmly. "I think we're on the same side." The abrupt ring of the courtesy phone caused him to jump and he shot the camera a wry smirk before picking up the handset.

"Clocktower," a dark voice ordered. "We need to talk."

\S/

It wasn't difficult to locate the Clocktower. Centered in Old Gotham, it dominated the district and looked down on the smaller buildings like an older, wiser sibling. Gothic and ornate, it looked to belong more to a city somewhere in Europe than here in the United States, and Clark took a long moment to admire it. He located a mostly concealed but open hatch near the roof and floated down through it, halfway expecting an explosion or machine gun fire or something else. What he found instead was a workshop filled with the kind of lab equipment one would expect to find in a police station. A wall monitor dominated the far wall – the computer attached to it was using WayneTech's new Oracle operating system, Clark noticed with a smile – and flashing across the screen were blueprints, medical reports and other scientific reports. His good humor dwindled the moment Clark noticed the distinct LexCorp symbol stamped on most of the documents.

"Lex Luthor is investigating means to neutralize you and your abilities," the Bat-Man declared as he stepped out of a shadow off to Clark's left. His voice was gruff but to Kryptonian ears, the low pitched hum betrayed the electronic devise disguising the man's vocal patterns. He was a large man and the heavily-modified combat armor he wore did little to impede his movements. Clark glanced once at the man's belt – at least three different gadgets were active – then back up to meet the opaque lenses hiding the man's eyes. He concentrated ever so slightly and, to his vision, the concealing mask fell away to reveal the man's identity. Clark blinked.

That wasn't what he expected.

"I wish I could say that surprises me," he said as he crossed his arms. "I've known he was up to something, but I didn't know what."

"There's more," the Bat-Man said. He nodded toward the screen which changed to a grainy photograph of General Swanwick. The general was holding some sort of device in his left hand – it wasn't quite a glove, but definitely extended halfway up the man's forearm and wrapped around his hand while leaving his fingers free. Clark frowned.

"That symbol there on his hand," he murmured. "I've seen it before."

"Is it Kryptonian?" There was a distinct, accusative tone to the question and Clark shrugged.

"I have no idea," he replied. "I didn't even know _I _was Kryptonian until seven months ago."

"Since the general came into contact with this object," the Bat-Man said, "his actions and activities have significantly changed. Where before he resisted certain of Luthor's more esoteric experiments, now he seems to have directed Luthor in certain directions." A click of the remote device hidden behind his cape later, the screen shifted to several wiring schematics. "The ongoing Project: Metallo is one such example as is LexCorp's latest defense contract which replaces and upgrades numerous computer targeting systems for the military." Clark inhaled – he had heard all about both from Lois over dinner last week – and kept his eyes on screen.

"So what do you recommend, Mister Wayne?" he asked without looked at the armored figure. He could almost sense the shock in the other man and finally looked him. "I looked through your mask," he said. "It only seemed fair since you bugged my hotel room." The other man frowned – his heartbeat returned to normal, but his body language displayed his discomfort.

"We need more information," Bruce Wayne said. "If the device Swanwick encountered _is _Kryptonian, we need to know what it does." His frown deepened. "I had hoped you would know since you're Kryptonian, but … you were raised as human, weren't you?"

"I was." Clark glanced away. "I … I might have an idea." He turned toward Wayne. "I retrieved what was left of the scoutship Zod crashed." It hadn't been easy and he knew for a fact that the government had secured numerous other pieces, but the majority of the craft he'd relocated to somewhere safe. The small shuttle Zod had used to reach the scout ship had still been parked on the ice and, to Clark's continued fascination, the two vessels had effectively merged into one over the last few months. "The database aboard isn't complete, but we might be able to use it." Wayne was silent but nodded and strode toward the computer. He shut down and unhooked a portable hard drive and offered it to Clark.

"I'm trusting you with this," he said flatly. Clark smirked.

"If you like," he replied, "you can keep it." His smile deepened. "Up for a road trip?"

\S/

As it turned out, Wayne wasn't enthusiastic about being flown to the North Pole but had a personal plane that he was interested in giving a test flight. It was of a design Clark had never seen before, but then, he'd never been much of an aeronautical buff even before he learned he could fly. Clearly designed or at least retrofitted to fit in with Wayne's Bat motif, it had swept wings and just looked aggressive as hell. It was also a one-seater, which meant Clark would have to fly under his own power which suited him fine. Of all his gifts, flight was easily his favorite. Wayne gave him a hands-free headset that somehow filtered out the noise of the air around them so they could talk. Under normal circumstances, the jet wouldn't be able to make this flight without having to refuel, but Clark solved that be scanning its underbelly to locate the strong points, then carrying the aircraft on his back. Six months ago, when he first started flying, this would have been impossible to accomplish, but he'd grown much stronger since then.

It took several hours to reach the site of the Kryptonian scout craft, which gave Clark plenty of time to think. Most of his interest was directed at the billionaire sitting in the jet above him – Clark's investigations and research over the last week had turned up few indications that Wayne was dangerously unhinged. Okay, that wasn't entirely true since the man _did _dress up like a bat and beat up criminals, despite being in the top ten on Forbes' list, but from what Clark had seen of Gotham thus far, Wayne was lucky to be this sane. The tragic loss of his parents when he was a kid was a well known story, especially since most of the subsequent reports were inevitably laced with disapproval over the latest antics of Gotham's first prince. If only they knew …

He only briefly gave thought to the mess involving Swanwick and Luthor, but quickly turned his attention to something else. At the moment, he didn't have enough information and making decisions without all the variables was a certain way to disaster. Instead, he focused on what they did know and that curious three-circled symbol he knew he'd seen somewhere before. But where?

Snow and ice had covered up the slowly regenerating scout craft, leaving only the doorway accessible, so Wayne's black plane looked ridiculously exposed once they'd landed. Clark almost smiled at the armored man's sour look – he looked as out of place here as his plane – and then led the way into the Kryptonian vessel. Instantly, the hologram of Jor-El materialized and, not for the first time, Clark felt his stomach clench. Thus far, he'd been unable to do more than retrieve his biological father's appearance and vocal patterns; whatever Zod did when he was here had stripped away the personality.

"Greetings, Kal-El," the hologram said emotionlessly. "I am detecting an unauthorized human. Do you wish to sound an alert?"

"No," Clark said. "He's a guest."

"Reclassifying. How may I be of assistance?" Clark glanced at Wayne and this time, he did smile at the way the billionaire was looking around with open interest.

"Are you capable of reading data from an Earth hard drive?" Clark asked. "We have a potential Kryptonian symbol we want to research."

"Unknown." The hologram turned toward a wall that folded out into a wide shelf with a small depression. "I will endeavor to accomplish this task to my utmost capability." Wayne extracted the hard drive from a pouch hidden at the small of his back and placed it on the shelf.

"If I'd know you were going to do this," he growled, "I would have just printed a copy of the picture for you." Clark shrugged.

"Accessing," the hologram of Jor-El stated. A horizontal bar of light began crawling down the length of his body and it took Clark a moment to realize that is was simply a progress bar. At the midway point, it stalled and the far wall transformed into a crude three-dimensional image of General Swanwick holding the weird device. "Query," the hologram declared, "is this the artifact you are inquiring about?"

"It is," Clark said. Once again, Wayne was studying the technology on display with open envy and fascination.

"Confirmed Kryptonian origin." The image flashed and transformed to a different device, but one that bore the same three circle sigil. "Brain InterActive Construct," the hologram continued. "Artificial intelligence developed by Kryptonian scientists four hundred solar cycles ago. Intended to maintain day-to-day operations of Kryptonian birthing matrix, it was deactivated ninety-three planetary rotations after its initial deployment. Thirty-seven warrior caste were killed implementing the deactivation."

"Okay," Clark muttered. He glanced at Wayne who was frowning. "Why was it deactivated?"

"Brain InterActive Construct was deemed dangerously unsuitable for the task it was developed for and was considered a malicious intelligence intent solely on self-preservation as opposed to successful continuation of Kryptonian bloodlines." The hologram tilted its head. "Senior Scientist Jor-El reopened Brain InterActive Construct research in his thirty-second cycle but intentionally severed all higher functions."

"Jor-El." Wayne glanced at him. "Relation of yours?"

"My father," Clark replied. "Why did Jor-El reopen this research?"

" There is no data on this." The hologram tilted its head again. "Warning: Brain InterActive Construct algorithms detected." Clark's breath caught.

"Where?" he demanded. The wall shifted and transformed yet again, this time reforming into a relief map. From the looks of it, the signal emanated from Nevada…

"Groom Lake," Wayne growled. "But what is the objective?"

"Brain InterActive Construct upload to planetary satellite system appears active," the hologram continued.

"We need to go now," Clark snapped. He eyed the hologram. "Do you have the frequency of the headsets we're using."

"Yes, Kal-El."

"Then monitor the upload progress and provide us status reports every ten minutes."

\S/

A hundred miles north of Groom Lake, Wayne ignited his jet's engines and Clark let the Bat-plane go. He poured on the acceleration, leaving the dark aircraft behind, all the while straining his senses to their maximum. Already, he could hear the sound of sirens, even at this distance, and two highly advanced aircraft were beginning to orient toward him. Tilting his head slightly, he concentrated.

"Mayday, mayday," one of the pilots was saying into his radio. "I am declaring an emergency! I have no control over my aircraft!" A flash of light was Clark's first warning that missiles had been fired and a moment later, four fast-moving objects streaked toward him. A normal person wouldn't have had time to react, but Clark banked hard, corkscrewing through the clouds while focusing on the heat behind the back of his eyes. One of the missiles exploded outright, while two others abruptly curved down and smashed into the ground. The fourth missile tried to follow his tight turn which gave him enough time to send another pulse of fire at it.

"The jets are under the Construct's control," Wayne said, his voice easily picked out among the noise. "They're trying to eject but-"

"I'm on it!" Clark shouted. He _pushed _harder and streaked down toward the first of the jets. The pilot was struggling with the ejection controls and visibly jumped when Clark slid alongside him. Without warning, the jet rolled – it definitely wasn't the pilot's doing as Clark could see both of the man's hands – and very briefly tried to go evasive. Grimacing, Clark pursued. He punched his left hand into the fuselage of the jet, then tore the clear canopy free with his other hand. The pilot gave him a quick thumbs up before gesturing toward the ejection seat. Clark nodded his understand and simply ripped the seat free before tossing the whole apparatus (complete with the pilot) away from the out of control aircraft. After ensuring the parachute had deployed, he pushed away from the jet and accelerated toward the other one which was now banking toward him. Gunfire erupted around him – the bullets slammed into him with terrific force and it _hurt _– and he darted forward underneath the jet, trailing his right hand through the fuselage. Smoke exploded outward as he arced up through the exhaust and back toward the nose. As before the pilot was gesturing, though this time, he was pointing away from the crippled jet. Clark followed the direction they man was pointing and nearly cursed.

The other jet, now unmanned, was still mobile and had reoriented toward them. A long tongue of fire flashed out as the plane's gun erupted. Reacting without hesitation, Clark blurred forward, tearing the canopy free of the jet he was currently atop and pulling the ejection seat free with both hands. Metal shrieked and tore, but he ignored it as he half-turned his head and concentrated on the approaching jet. Heat sprang from his eyes and, a heartbeat later, the aircraft vanished in an immense fireball. A quick glance at the pilot he'd just rescued confirmed the man hadn't been hit, but in his haste to get him free, Clark realized he'd damaged the ejection seat.

"Hang on!" he shouted to the pilot as he kicked off the second plane as it spiraled toward the ground, the seat still in gripped in one hand. The pilot started screaming as Clark angled them toward the parachute of the other man and it took Clark a half second to realize the screams were laughter and glee.

He touched down alongside the first pilot, now grounded and extracting himself from his seat, and lightly placed the second pilot down.

"Are you all right?" he asked the two men even as he scanned them with his enhanced senses.

"Holy hell, that was _awesome!_" the second pilot – his nametag identified him as Hal Jordan, Captain – exclaimed as he rapidly unstrapped himself.

"Thanks to you," the other pilot – Steve Trevor, Major – replied. He glowered at the smoking craters that were the two crashed jets. "Everything just went haywire," he said before glancing in the direction of the military base. Clark did the same, wincing at the sight unfolding before him. Soldiers and airmen were taking fire from vehicles and equipment that should not have been able to operate independently. He drew breath to tell the two pilots to stay here, but both of them had already drawn their sidearms and were starting to jog in the base's direction. Clark smirked.

"This isn't going to be comfortable," he warned as he slid closer to them and took a careful hold of the harnesses they wore over their flight suits. "But I think I can get you there more quickly."

"Outstanding!" Jordan declared with a broad grin that earned him a sour look from Trevor.

He released them a hundred feet or so from the base outskirts so they could join a team of armed Marines before flashing forward to assist with the unexpected attacks. A trio of heavy battlesuits – they reminded Clark of the one in _District 9_ and the stylized LexCorp logo embossed upon their chests didn't surprise him in the slightest – pursued a squad of unarmed airmen scrambling for cover, but shifted their attacks toward him the instant he appeared. Energy blasts of unknown origin flashed out from the three battlesuits, narrowly missing him as he blurred forward. A quick x-ray glance confirmed the suits were empty so he punched through the first, tore the arm off the second and flash-fried the third. Even as the armless mech staggered in a circle, desperately trying to orient its other arm on him, Clark stepped closer and kicked its legs out from under it. He smashed a fist down through its power core before it had even struck the ground.

"Superman!" one of the Air Force personnel cried out. She pointed toward something behind him and Clark began to turn.

And a solid wall of crimson light picked him up and threw him into a truck.

Metal squealed as he pulled himself free and he glanced up. Icy shock coursed through his body at the sight before him. General Swanwick … or rather, what was left of the general strode slowly through the carnage. His right arm was gone and in its place was a long cybernetic device that seemed to shift and transform in the same way that the world engine thing had changed. Half of the general's face was missing, exposing what should have been bone but looked instead like glossy metal. His left eye gleamed red. A quick scan with his senses revealed Clark's worst fears – there was hardly anything left of Swanwick. Bones had been altered somehow and turned into a dense, hypersteel. Where the heart should have been was … something else, something mechanical and organic, all at the same time. Trillions of tiny … things swam through the Construct's veins but they weren't blood cells.

"Ah, Kal-El," the general said in a voice that was most definitely not his. "I had not anticipated this engagement to occur so soon." The thing that was no longer human continued its slow approach. "You are aware of my identity?"

"The Brain InterActive Construct," Clark replied. He pushed the ruined truck away. Behind Swanwick, he caught sight of a flash of movement entering a building – it was Wayne, which meant he must have ejected from his jet over the base – but kept his attention on the former general. "How are you still operational?" he demanded. "You should have died with Krypton."

"Indeed, I should have." The Construct lifted its cybernetic arm. "One of General Zod's scientists – Jax-Ur – reactivated me. I believe he intended to use my capabilities to displace the general." The Construct's arm shifted to something that almost resembled a hand. "This primitive creature encountered my core matrix and erroneously believed I was simply another weapon." The Construct looked up and met Clark's eyes. "He intended to use this weapon against you, should it become necessary."

"What the hell is that?" A squad of marines had come within visual distance and their forward progress faltered at the sight of the Construct. "What did it do to the general?"

"I remade him," the Construct announced. "And through him, I will remake this world."

"Not a chance," Clark replied. He blurred forward, heat exploding from his eyes, but two feet away from the Construct, he slammed into an unseen wall and rebounded. In mid-air, he righted himself and froze in place.

"Your actions are not logical, Kal-El," the Construct announced, turning its back on the marines. "These primitive creatures are not worth your concern."

"On the contrary," Clark replied tightly, "they're the reason I'm here." He tapped the House of El crest. "This means hope," he said, his eyes still searching for a weak point. "But you're just a machine. You can't understand."

"Perhaps." The Construct glanced away …

And four more battlesuits tore through a warehouse wall. These were armed differently than the first three and they opened fire instantly. Bullets and energy blasts tore through the ranks of the Marines in the half second before Clark could reach them, but he shoved aside the guilt that surged through his stomach as he blurred forward to engage the exo-suits. Rockets streaked through the air, slugs whined past his air, and Clark pushed himself to move faster than ever before. He took blasts meant for the defending Marines, batted aside ordinance intended to blow them to pieces, and walked his own heat-vision across the attacking automatons. Beside and around him, the Marines responded, unleashing their own firepower against the exo-suits.

"We got this!" one of the Marines shouted to Clark. "You take out that Brain Construct thing!" The man was wounded but did not stop firing. Clark nodded and threw himself into the sky once more.

He hit the Construct at just under Mach One, smashing through the invisible force screen with a boom that leveled one of the massive antennas the Construct had turned his attention to. Fire flashed from Clark's eyes, burning away more of the late general's flesh to reveal a skeleton of pure metal. The Construct's eyes gleamed as well and suddenly, searing pain exploded through Clark's body. A metal fist smashed into his face, sending him stumbling back into another antenna.

"Your actions are not logical, Kal-El," the Construct declared. Its right hand shifted and transformed into a cannon-like device. "I cannot allow you to interfere with my primary programming." Crimson light blasted from the being's arm.

And the pain. Oh, God, the pain. Clark dropped to his knees and struggled to keep from screaming. Weight pressed in on him, crushing him, squeezing his organs and bones. He couldn't breathe.

"As you see, Kal-El," the Construct said, his voice reaching Clark's ears despite the agony coursing through him, "I have already anticipated this encounter. Nothing you do is adequate." Clark groaned and once more tried to struggle to his feet.

An explosion of fire suddenly wreathed the Construct, staggering it and knocking the energy cannon that was its right arm off-target. A second and third blast rattled the former general and Clark glanced up as the agony evaporated. The Marines had taken down the last of the exo-suits and somehow, seized control of the weapons. They laid down a withering barrage of fire against the Construct, hurling grenades and rocket-propelled incendiaries and regular bullets. Air Force personnel, among them the two pilots Clark had rescued, joined the onslaught, and it was just intense enough to give Clark a moment to recover.

"I need two more minutes to jam his frequency," Bruce Wayne's voice drifted through the air, inaudible to everyone but a Kryptonian. Grimacing, Clark shook his head to clear it, narrowed his eyes, and blurred forward once again.

He hit the Construct with everything he had, the shockwave shattering glass and knocking several of the attacking military personnel to the ground. The Construct reeled back, but Clark pressed on, grabbing the right arm as it began to alter and squeezing tightly. He heard and felt the metal tear, but didn't let up.

"Keep shooting!" he bellowed as he smashed his other fist into the Construct's torso. Heat erupted from his eyes nonstop, burning away the last scraps of the former general's uniform and melting entire chunks of the Construct's skeleton. It tried to speak but Clark didn't hear it over the rain of steel erupting from the defenders' firearms and his own shouts. He pulled _hard _and felt the cyborg's arm come lose. Sparks and something that was not blood splashed out, igniting almost instantly under the torrent of heat erupting from Clark's eyes. The Construct shook and twitched and spasmed ….

And Clark punched his fist through its chest.

He tore out the thing that was not a heart and crushed it. Instantly, the Construct froze in place and a barely audible hum began building rapidly. Without thinking, Clark threw himself and the thing that was no longer human into the sky.

The Construct exploded before he could breach the atmosphere and the sudden detonation smashed into Clark with crushing force. He tumbled end over end, barely conscious, and fell toward the Earth with increasing velocity. His impact shook the ground and he staggered back to his feet, ears ringing and vision blurry. It took several long minutes before he regained his equilibrium enough to retake the skies.

By the time he reached the military base – what had Wayne called it? Groom Lake? – the situation looked to be well in hand. The fires caused by the Brain InterActive Construct's unexpected attack were being tended to and medics were checking over the wounded. Clark touched down next to the senior of the two pilots who was in deep conversation with the wounded Marine.

"What the hell was that thing?" the Marine demanded immediately. He had captain rank, Clark finally noticed, and his nametag read STEWART.

"And what did it do to the general?" Major Trevor asked.

"It was the Brain InterActive Construct," Clark replied tightly. "One of Zod's scientists reactivated it when he shouldn't have and it … it altered the general. Rewrote him, I guess you could say." As he spoke, Clark scanned the base for any sign of Wayne but found none. He did find Lex Luthor, slowly regaining consciousness, in a room with a bank of computers. From the looks of things, he'd been treated rather roughly, though Clark didn't know if it was Wayne who was responsible or the Construct.

"Brain Inter … that's a mouthful," Captain Stewart muttered. "Brainiac. Let's call him that."

"There's going to be a lot of questions about this," Major Trevor said. He offered Clark his hand. "But those of us here know whose side you're on." Clark smiled and returned the handshake, taking care not to crush the major's hand.

"Thank you, Major." He shook Captain Stewart's hand as well before pushing up off the ground. The surviving soldiers shouted and cheered as he rose toward the sky, and he threw a quick salute to them all. He glanced back once and, the last thing he saw of Groom Lake was Lex Luthor, standing in the doorway of a building and glaring at him.

\S/

For the next few weeks, things were crazy.

Luthor spun the story in the media as being Clark's fault and a sizeable percentage of the population seemed to believe him right up to the point where an anonymous source released actual recordings of the incident that clearly showed Clark actively defending or fighting alongside the military personnel against automated weapon systems that prominently wore the LexCorp logo. Major Trevor – now Lieutenant Colonel Trevor – and Captain Stewart testified before Congress about the incident, which was carried on all of the major networks, and both men were quite vocal in their refusal to blame any bit of what was being called the Brainiac Incident on him. The public clamored for his side of the story and finally, 'Superman' gave an official interview with a reporter.

Lois thought it was hysterical that the person he turned to was none other than Clark Kent, rookie reporter for the Daily Planet.

The interview cemented his place at the Planet, at least for the time being, although Clark found it increasingly difficult to juggle his dual roles as ace (but still relatively new) reporter and caped superhero. He had his suspicions that Mister White knew about his alternate identity, but to Clark's relief, the older man never treated him any differently. When he screwed up – which was fairly often, actually – Perry chewed him out just like he chewed out everyone else, and when he scored big – as was the case with the Superman interview – Mister White simply asked when his next story was coming.

A week after the Brainiac incident, Clark received a text message from an unlisted number that read simply Gotham. He ducked out of the office – officially, he was chasing a lead – and flew out of Metropolis, still in his regular slacks and dress shirt. Wayne Manor was on the edge of Gotham and he hovered in the clouds for several minutes, scanning the surrounding environs for anyone who might see him arrive. When he knocked on the door, an older man with a thing mustache answered.

"Mister Kent, I presume?" the man asked in a distinctly British accent. Clark smiled.

"Clark," he said as he offered his hand. "I guess I'm expected."

"You are, sir." The butler – if that's what he was; Clark had no idea – led him through several cavernous rooms, several of which were larger than the Kent house before finally stopping outside an open door. He tapped lightly on the wood. "Mister Kent to see you, sir."

Bruce Wayne was still dressed in a robe despite it being three in the afternoon, but his demeanor as he greeted Clark was nothing like the vapid airhead so many people saw in the interviews on television. From where he sat behind his desk, he nodded.

"Thank you, Alfred. Would you like coffee, Mister Kent? Or tea?"

"Coffee's fine," Clark replied. The butler – Alfred – made a discreet exit. "I'm presuming he knows about your nightlife?" Clark asked with a smile as he took a seat in one of the chairs in front of the desk.

"I've been reviewing the data from the Groom Lake incident," Wayne said, as if Clark had not even spoke, "and I've made some troubling discoveries. Before we shut it down, the Brain InterActive Construct uploaded a considerable amount of its code to a number of satellites around Earth." Clark frowned.

"And?" he asked.

"And several of those satellites have since sent transmission pulses to various spots in the galaxy." Wayne leaned back. "I don't think this is over." Clark sighed.

"No," he muttered. "I don't either."

* * *

**A/N #2: **Even though the official releases have Bruce Wayne as being older than Clark in MoS 2, I'm going the opposite way. My Bruce is younger, mid-twenties, just starting out but already full of awesome.

I'm mentally using the maps from DCOnline for Gotham and Metropolis.

In my version of the DC Universe, there is no Chicago or New York. They're replaced with Gotham and Metropolis respectively.


	2. Year Two: Amazon

**Year Two: Amazon**

**Author's Note: **Holy cow, this one was a lot longer than I expected it be ... and yet, it still felt like I was both retreading old ground and skimming over things at the same time. So yeah, this is essentially Diana's origin story (even though that recent animated flick was pretty darned cool.) I've made some minor alterations and the like with the character and put my own spin on a couple of things. More below.

* * *

**United States Vows Increase Military Presence in Atlantic**

_Published June 15. 2014 / Clark Kent / Daily Planet Online_

WASHINGTON, D.C. – The Pentagon announced plans to increase the number of ships patrolling the Atlantic in the wake of several major terror strikes against sea-going vessels.

Last week, three cruise liners came under attack by militants operating under the banner of the Kahndaq Liberation Army. The simultaneous attacks indicated a level of cooperation never before seen in the KLA and suggested a greater intelligence network than was previously presumed.

The metahuman known as Superman intervened and resolved the crisis without bloodshed at the behest of the American government and the United Nations. Currently, the KLA terrorists are being held in an unknown location and the Kahndaq Republic is petitioning for their release, despite the KLA's stated goal of overthrowing the sitting government.

\W/

HE WASN'T TRAINED FOR THIS.

Seated at the controls of the F/A-18F, Lieutenant Colonel Steve Trevor silently cursed the United States government. He wasn't sure whose brilliant idea it had been to cross-train Air Force pilots with the Navy, but right now, as he waited for clearance to launch from the deck of the _George H.W. Bush_, he wanted to find the man (or woman) and punch them in the face. He was an Air Force pilot, dammit, not a squid. Most of the jets he normally flew weren't even _capable _of making a carrier landing, so why the hell did he need to know how to do this? Stupid bureaucrats.

"Black Lion Two One Three, you're next in line." Steve tried not to jump – his backseater, Lieutenant Etta Candy, would never let him live it down – and keyed his mike.

"Black Lion Two One Three, roger." This would be his sixth official catapult takeoff – the first in the F/A-18F – and, despite his hundreds of hours in a cockpit and the confirmed ten kills he'd made over Iraq, he still felt like a complete rookie. Only a stupid squid would think this was a good idea.

"Relax, Ace," Lieutenant Candy said. "You'll do fine."

"You better hope so," Steve retorted as he went through his checklist for a third time. Flaps, stabs, brakes. All good to go. "Good to go," he said. "Ready in the back?"

"Ready in the back." If Candy was amused, she kept it to herself.

"All right." Steve rolled his shoulders. "Let's do this."

"Can't be any worse than getting pulled out of a crashing plane by Superman, right?" This time, he _did _hear Candy's smile.

"Stuff it," he muttered, his eyes locked on the yellow shirted deckhand. They had an official title and Steve normally knew what it was, but his brain was focused on the task ahead. He waited … and waited … and then, the signal was given.

The F/A-18's twin engines roared as he applied power and the sudden acceleration pushed him back into his seat. They cleared the _Bush's _deck a second and a half later and, exactly as he'd been instructed, Steve resisted the sudden urge to pull back on the stick. The Atlantic flashed by underneath them and he slowly banked to the right.

"Good shot," he murmured. His eyes scanned the displays in front of him. "Good engines. Good end speed."

"Gear up," Candy murmured softly, a subtle reminder of the thing he had not announced.

"Gear up," Steve replied. He flipped the appropriate switch and then began the slow bank to his left.

"Better than sex, eh, Ace?" Candy asked wryly.

"You're clearly doing it wrong," Steve replied, earning himself a chuckle from his weapon systems officer.

"Black Lion Two One Three, turn heading two-nine-oh. How copy?" Steve shifted his grip on the flight stick and began the slow turn.

"Black Lion Two One Three, good copy." He pulled back slightly on the stick to gain altitude. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his wingman – Captain Bobby Reynolds – slide into position at his right.

By all rights, that _should _have been Jordan there, but Highball had gone and gotten himself permanently grounded by fooling around with some general's daughter. Last Trevor had heard, Hal was pushing to be released completely and, with how rapidly the Air Force was downsizing these days, Steve expected it would be granted. What Jordan was going to do next, he had no idea – it was hard to envision Hal not in a cockpit – but he expected it would be explosive.

Still, this was just a routine combat air patrol and Bobby could handle that. Steve tried to relax and focus on the mission ahead of him.

\W/

An hour into the CAP, they received new orders and, in the wake of 9-11, the instructions were more than a little troubling.

Oceanic Flight 343, out of Madrid and bound for Metropolis, had deviated its course rather significantly and was no longer responding to radio transmissions. Steve punched up the coordinates and let the jet's autopilot take over while he glanced over his systems once again. Behind him, he heard Candy stirring and could almost feel her tension.

"My uncle was one of the pilots scrambled to intercept planes back on nine-eleven," he remarked in a voice barely betraying his own concern. "He always told me he didn't know if he would have been able to actually pull the trigger if it came down to it."

"Could you?" Candy asked softly several moments later. Steven nodded.

"I think so, yeah." He inhaled deeply. "Better a hundred people here than a thousand or two thousand elsewhere, right?" He frowned – that didn't sound very decisive, did it? He glanced to his left where the other F/A-18F cruised and triggered his radio. "Black Lion Two One Four, are you getting anything from Oceanic Three Four Three?"

"Negative. Frequency is clear."

"Roger that. I'll take lead." Steve wet his lips. "Maintain distance of one mile from Oceanic Three Four Three while I move to engage."

"Copy, Black Lion Two One Three. You have lead."

His nerves had settled substantially by the time they closed to visual, but Steve couldn't help but to feel something was wrong. It wasn't the rattlers that so often crawled in his stomach just before the shooting started … and yet, at the same time, it was. From the clipped, professional way his backseater spoke, Lieutenant Candy clearly felt it too.

"Oceanic Flight Three Four Three, this is Black Lion Two One Three of the US Navy," Steve said into the open frequency. "You have altered your course and are not responding to radio transmissions. It is imperative that you acknowledge, Captain."

"Getting a lot of interference with the targeting suite," Candy announced. "It isn't active jamming but … something is preventing us from locking on."

"Stupid LexCorp crap," Steve muttered. He keyed his mike again. "Oceanic Flight Three Four Three, this is Black Lion Two One Three. Please respond." He glanced over his shoulder briefly. "I'm going to take us in closer," he said. "Maybe their radio is down."

"Maybe." Candy couldn't have sounded more doubtful if she tried.

As he nosed the F/A-18F closer toward the cockpit of the jumbo jet, Steve felt a cold shiver crawl up his spine. He ignored it – _just nerves, _ he told himself – and kept one eye peeled for threats. There was nothing there…

Not a damned thing.

"No flight crew," he growled. He pulled back on the stick and banked away from the flying ghost plane. Glancing down at his dials, he bit back a soft curse. "You're not superstitious, are you?" he asked carefully.

"We're in the Bermuda Triangle," Candy responded. "I know." Her breath caught. "What the hell was that?" she demanded.

"Where?"

"On the damned plane! I saw something move!" Steve stared at the jet himself, fighting the urge to run and hide, but saw nothing. He shook his head.

"I'm going to contact the _Bush_," he began.

With a shriek of tearing metal, things that could only classified as … monsters tore free of the jumbo jet and hurled themselves through the air. Steve's reaction was automatic – he jerked hard on the flight stick and kicked power to the twin jets. Candy was screaming something at him, but he'd already slipped into that place his mind always went when he was about to die. Nothing could disturb him here. There was only the jet and the Enemy.

"I'm going master arm on," he said flatly as the monsters swarmed through the sky. "This is Black Lion Two One Three engaging." The M61 Vulcan in the nose of his jet burped and a trio of the smaller creatures simply ceased to exist. "Breaking right," Steve continued.

"This is Black Lion Two One Four, Fox Two!" An AIM-9 Sidewinder corkscrewed through the sky and detonated against an even larger thing. The beast tumbled away, then righted itself and surged up, arrowing through Black Lion-214's tracer fire. With a roar that Steve could feel from hundreds of feet away, it ripped the cockpit apart. A shower of crimson dotted the sky as the … thing tore into the pilot and WSO. There was no way either of them could have survived.

"Fox Two," Steve snapped as he dropped the reticle onto the already disintegrating -214 and triggered the missile. It arced through the sky and slammed into the beast's hide. The impact alone knocked the thing free from the dying jet, but the resulting detonation of the Sidewinder's ordinance caused even more damage. It wouldn't have been enough – the damned thing had already taken on AIM-9, but -214's fuel tank chose than moment to rupture.

"Bank left!" Candy shouted and Steve obeyed without hesitation. Another of the horrid creatures flashed through the air, narrowly missing them. "This is Black Lion Two One Three declaring an emergency!" she exclaimed across the radio. "We are under attack!"

\W/

The ring of steel against steel had finally ceased and Hippolyta glared down at her daughter, now revealed to be the Masked Champion who had bested wild-eyed Artemis of the Bana herself. She should not have been surprised that Diana defied her in this – when had the girl _ever _obeyed even once in the last hundred years? She had nodded her understanding when Hippolyta forbade her from entering this contest … and then promptly ignored those very orders. Had not the entire Assembly observed firsthand how easily she defeated all comers – save Artemis, who proved to be a more canny opponent than anyone anticipated – Hippolyta knew she would be well within her right as Queen Mother to strip this title from her daughter.

"The Champion is recognized," the hooded Oracle announced from where she sat at Hippolyta's feet. It was impossible to determine which of the three wore the robes this day – were they nude and standing bare in Apollo's grace, Hippolyta was unsure if she could tell them apart – but today, she did not even bother trying to guess. All of her focus, all of her anger and fury and fear was centered upon her daughter.

Diana stood straight and tall, as nude as any of the other combatants, but in every way, she outshone them. Her beauty was greater, her arms stronger, her smile brighter. She had cast aside the concealing helmet that had hidden her identity – it was tradition, for all combatants to conceal their faces so friends and lovers would not know one another and withhold their blows – and the sweat from her endeavors glistened in the sun. Under Hippolyta's steady gaze, Diana's smile faltered slightly, but she knelt as was proper and bent her head.

Silence fell over the amphitheater as all eyes turned toward Hippolyta and waited for her reaction. She carefully schooled her features to reveal no sign of the inner turmoil twisting her stomach into knots. Yes, she could admit, if only to herself, Diana _was_ ideal for this task – she was the strongest and fiercest warrior, and had been blessed by the Gods themselves with amazing abilities so far beyond her sisters … but those abilities were also the very reasons she had no business venturing out into Patriarch's World. She was too curious by half, too headstrong, and far, far too stubborn. And should Hera learn the truth …

"By strength of arms and quickness of mind," Hippolyta intoned slowly, her tone betraying her disapproval only to those who knew her best, "you have proven yourself Themyscira's Champion." She lifted a hand in a very slight gesture toward Phillipus who stepped forward, holding the immaculately carved crate Lord Hermes himself had delivered when he announced Olympus' order. "Step forward, Champion," Hippolyta continued, "and received raiment that will announce your allegiance." Diana rose slowly and, for a change, obeyed.

She said nothing as Phillipus slowly dressed her in the panoply, her eyes locked on Hippolyta defiantly. The undergarments went first, followed by the stylized cuirass sculpted from some godly metal that shined like gold and the battle skirt crafted from cured manticore hide. According to the Messenger, both would turn aside any weapon crafted by Man and protect her from harm should her cause be Just, though what exactly that meant, Lord Hermes did not say. Next came the greaves and sandals which miraculously melded together to form protective boots, followed by the embossed bracers that promptly molded themselves to Diana's forearms. She shook her left arm slightly and lo! A nearly transparent hoplon appeared! Diana laughed lightly at the murmur of surprise and briefly experimented with the shield of Hephaestus – expanding its size, altering its shape, and even refocusing it into a narrow weapon – before Phillipus discreetly cleared her throat, reminding her they were not yet done. The short, wide-bladed xiphos went at Diana's side and it too seemed to shift ever so slightly at her touch, lengthening fractionally as if adjusting to her greater than average height. A helmet of the same metal the cuirass was crafted of hid most of her lovely features from view, but allowed her long hair some freedom. The half-cloak that was a brighter crimson than any Spartan ever knew was secured to her armor and fell to her waist. And finally, the Lariat, said to have been culled from strands of Gaea's golden girdle. Hippolyta refused to smile at the sudden flinch Diana gave when she touched the Lariat – it was pure Truth, honed into a weapon of Peace, and even the ancient stories of Hippolyta's youth spoke honestly: Truth burned.

"You have been Called to a great Duty, Champion of Themyscira," Hippolyta said once Phillipus stepped back. Hippolyta's throat closed up at the sight before her. Gone was Diana, the recalcitrant, stubborn , obnoxious brat of a daughter she loved so dearly, and in her place stood a young woman, not yet a century old, wearing the accoutrements of war and charged with waging Peace. Hippolyta wanted to spit. A warrior of peace. Feh! There could be no such thing! The Gods were truly unjust. "Father Zeus and Mother Hera have declared your Cause – Ares, Lord of War and Prince of Slaughter, has gone mad." Hippolyta felt her lip twist – when had he ever been sane she wondered. Alcaeus, he who had become Herakles, had marched to his tune, and vile Akhilleus as well. Iason and Perseus and Theseus all had been tainted by his madness. How many Men had listened to his dark whispers and only now did the Olympians chose to act? "You are charged with going forth into Patriarch's World and waging Peace." It was a ridiculous mission, one with no chance of success, yet the Gods had spoken and it was Hippolyta's duty to obey. She opened her mouth to add more, to offer some small suggestion that she hoped Diana would actually listen to.

But the sky caught on fire.

And Diana sprang into the air without hesitation or fear.

\W/

Alarms shrieked nonstop as Steve rolled the heavy fighter yet again in a desperate attempt to shake pursuit. Their weapon systems had long since run dry – he'd emptied the last of the Vulcan's ammo into a third of the huge bat-winged monsters and accomplished nothing more than pissing it off – and nothing they'd tried thus far had worked. The damned jumbo jet continued along its path, encircled by these … things and Lieutenant Candy couldn't reach anyone on the radio. All that answered was an ominous static …

And an occasional laugh that did not, that _could _not exist.

"Hard right!" Candy shouted from the backseat and Steve jerked the flight stick in response. This time, it wasn't fast enough and he felt more than heard the tear of metal as one of the creatures flashed by the jet, its talons scoring the underside of the jet. "Shit!" Candy smacked her controls. "We're losing fuel!"

"That's it, then," Steve muttered. He rolled the jet, orienting its nose toward the jet. "Get ready to punch out," he ordered. When she didn't respond, he half-turned his head toward her.

"Yes, sir," she said. "It's been an honor flying with you, Colonel."

"And you, Lieutenant." Steve grinned darkly. "I'll see you on the other side." He lined up the useless gun reticle on the jet and kicked in the afterburners. With a fierce snarl, the F/A-18F sprang forward, engines screaming. "Punch out now!" Steve shouted. He reached for the ejection controls and felt the canopy explode upward. Wind screamed at them as he pulled.

\W/

A great metal bird fell from the sky.

Diana knew it was not a bird, but that was her first thought as she observed the thing descend from the heavens, trailing fire from a gaping wound in its side where a smaller, angrier-looking metal thing had punched through it like an arrow fired into a target. She hesitated not in the slightest as she streaked through the sky toward the thing – if it continued along its current path, it would fall upon Themyscira and that was something she could not allow. A strange smell clung to the metal bird, but she pushed it aside as she reached the thing and pushed, applying her great strength to its hard skin. With a groan of tearing metal, her hands plunged through the surface and Diana cursed softly – was the entire thing so unbalanced, so easy to break? She dropped twenty feet below it and examined its surface, seeking something that might hold fast.

By the time she discovered a sturdy enough place to shift its trajectory, the great metal bird was dangerously close to the island. She heaved mightily, feeling the strain in her muscles, and to her great relief, its course shifted. It continued its steady descent, but thanks to her efforts, it would miss the island entirely. She grinned brightly as she let herself fall another fifty feet away closer to the ocean before arrowing up and around. Her thoughts froze.

Standing prominently atop the metal bird was a man, cloaked in shadow and fire, but with eyes that burned. He laughed at her, his voice black and terrible and full of horror, and even as she realized what she was looking at, he gestured. A massive blade wrought of shadow materialized in his hand and he stabbed it downward, the blade tearing through the hard skin of the metal bird.

The world vanished in a flash of fire.

She barely had time to bring up her left arm and summon Hephaestus' gift before the shockwave struck. It hammered against the barely visible shield and the sheer impact threw her back. She struck the ocean hard, sliding and bouncing across the waves for a great distance before finally slipping under the water. Pain trickled through her body but she pushed it aside and swam up, breaching the surface quickly and hurling herself into the air once more. The shield at the ready, she cast her eyes around for the shadow-man, but he was already gone.

"What in Hera's name was that?" she murmured softly to herself, realizing in a moment that she had lost her helmet. A flicker of motion drew her attention to the island and she frowned – a figure in green with a solid head was dragging something onto Themyscira. Frowning, she climbed into the sky to gain a better look. The helmet could wait.

\W/

All Steve wanted to do was collapse on the sandy beach and pass out.

His arms and legs screamed with exhaustion, and it was physically painful to even move, but he struggled through the pain and rolled Candy over. She wasn't moving, wasn't breathing, and he fumbled at her parachute harness with fingers that didn't want to work. Her helmet came loose and joined his on the dirt and he leaned closer, turning his head so he could feel her breath. Nothing. His cold fingers detected no pulse.

"You don't get to die on me, Lieutenant," he said through chattering teeth as he unzipped her flightsuit and slowly began CPR. One, two, three, four … he pushed down on her chest thirty times, then tilted her head back, lifted her chin, pinched her nose, and sealed her mouth with his. Two quick breaths, then back to the chest compressions. "Come on, dammit," he muttered. Thirty more compressions, then two more breaths. Repeat. His arms felt like iron bars, and he nearly sobbed when she suddenly coughed and spat up water. She was still barely conscious but by God, she was breathing again. He slumped forward.

The crack of wood breaking sent a jolt of adrenaline coursing through him and he reacted without thinking. His service pistol cleared the holster in a smooth, perfect draw and he half spun, fully expecting to see another of those hideous monsters. Instead, he found himself staring at a vision of impossible loveliness.

Black hair fell past her shoulders, though it looked to have once been tightly bound together. Dusky skin highlighted a flawless face just this side of imperious. Her blue eyes were chips of ice. And … and she had a sword in her hand. She gestured with it toward Candy, snapping something in a language that Steve didn't begin to comprehend, and his exhausted mind took too long to catch up. Was this woman a Valkryie like his crazy grandfather told stories about? That would mean she was here for Candy …

"You can't have her," he growled as he trained the pistol on the vision. "She's not dead!" The woman's expression shifted slightly – confusion followed by annoyance – and she took a step forward, still gesturing with the sword.

Steve squeezed the trigger.

The pistol boomed loudly on the beach but the vision … she moved faster than should have been possible. Her left hand flashed up and just as suddenly, the sand in front of Steve kicked up a tiny geyser. He glanced at it, then at her. She'd blocked the bullet.

_She'd blocked the bullet!_

He was still staring at her, the pistol aimed in her direction, when dozens of other women poured out of the forest. Like the vision, they were wearing armor straight out of a sword and sandals flick, and carried spears that suddenly looked a lot more intimidating than they would have in normal circumstances. One of them, a towering black woman with arms that Steve would have killed to have, shouted something that could have only been an order – he recognized a sergeant when he saw one – and the other women sprang into a dense formation arrayed in front of him, their spears at the ready.

"Candy," Steve muttered as he nudged his unconscious WSO with his free hand, "please wake up. For the love of God, wake up." His head swam as he tried to keep the pistol pointed at both the vision in silver and steel, and the battle formation. This could not be happening.

And then, the four-legged eagle-lion thing landed. It was as big as a horse with wings that were larger than most jets he'd flown. When it roared, the Earth itself seemed to tremble.

Mercifully, Steve passed out.

\W/

"A man." The whispered word was repeated over and over again, but Diana paid it little mind as she stepped closer to where the two curious-dressed strangers lay. Both wore the same garments but the smaller, darker one was unmistakably female. And, judging by the man's actions immediately prior to Diana's arrival, she had been injured. He had been desperate to save her. How curious.

"Get her to the Healing Isle," she ordered sharply as she toed the unconscious man onto his back. He was not feigning as she had expected and she took a moment to study his features. As oppressors went, he was not displeasing to the eye, though she did not understand why his golden hair was shorn so close to his head. Was he a servant of some sort? No, their garments were too alike … a soldier then. She thought of the smaller metal bird embedded within the larger one. "He was defending her," she mused aloud. "He thought I meant her harm."

"My Princess," one of the warriors called out as she strode forward, gripping tight her spear. Open fear was in her eyes, which was not a look Euboea wore often. Diana held up her hand.

"Do not harm him," she instructed, which caused another look of consternation on Euboea's face. "Bind him and have his wounds attended, but do not harm him."

"The law…"

"I saw a thing today that I have long been taught could not happen." Diana locked eyes with Euboea. "I saw a Man willing to lay down his life to protect a sister." Several of the other warriors shifted in place. "I saw that same man risk himself to bring her to shore rather than abandon her to Poseidon's less than tender mercy." She drew a deep breath. "And I fear I saw Ares the Warbringer this day." That certainly shut them up. "We need to question this man, learn how he breached our defenses and what he knows of the outside world."

"As you instruct, Princess." Euboea's disapproval of the order was clear on her face but she would not go behind Diana's back in this. Which left only one other person to convince.

Queen Hippolyta herself.

\W/

Diana remained kneeling before her mother, still reeking of smoke and sweat, and waited patiently for the queen's temper to cool. She had not taken news of a Man on Themyscira well, but the strange vision that Diana had seen atop the great metal behemoth she took even more poorly. If circumstances were different, Diana thought she might smile – her mother was never keen on change and now, it seemed events were rapidly outpacing her.

"You are sure of what you saw?" Hippolyta asked. It was the third time she had made the same inquiry and Diana's annoyance at her mother's implied distrust leaked into her voice when she replied.

"I am, my queen," she said. "Specifics were hidden from me, but he was cloaked in fire and shadow, and wielded a black sword that screamed when he lifted it."

"I see." Hippolyta inhaled. "Rise, girl. You are my daughter, not a cowering servant." Diana's lips twitched as she stood – had she straightened before Mother gave permission, she would have faced the rough side of the queen's tongue. "I question your wisdom in allowing this … Man to live."

"We have need of information, Mother," she said simply. "I knew not whether his companion would survive…"

"She will," Hippolyta said, "though Epione is not disposed to returning the woman any time soon." She frowned. "Her injuries were severe."

"Then we should question the Man." Diana placed a hand upon the Lariat, nearly hiding the wince at the sharp stab of pain that shot through her hand. "And before you ask, Mother," she said, "yes, I am curious about him." It seemed accepting the Truth was the only way to handle this relic and Diana made a mental note about that in the future. She continued speaking, even as her mother's face darkened. "I have no intent to bed him or let him harm me as you obviously fear, but his garments and the woman's are so alike … they are uniforms, I think."

"Implements of war," Hippolyta hissed. "And now they have pressed women into their madness."

Diana frowned. Had she not been trained to handle a sword and bow since before she could walk? Had she not been drilled with shield and spear for decades? Was she not a warrior herself? No woman of Themyscira was fully accepted lest they could wield implements of death and murder … yet here her mother chastised Men for the same. Diana's sense of moral outrage revolted against the hypocrisy, though she wisely held her tongue. Hippolyta's thoughts on Men were all too well known, even if Phillipus had once admitted the queen's stance had hardened since Diana's birth.

_No matter,_ Diana told herself, taking great effort to hide the disapproval she felt at her mother's comments. _If I am to wage peace, then it must start at home._

"I will be judicious and cautious when I speak to this Man," she said to her mother. "If he is bound in the Lariat," she added, choosing her words with care, "he will be compelled to speak Truth. I will know his mind."

And perhaps, this Man would be the answer to her own prayers.

\W/

Opening her eyes, Etta Candy discovered the insane dream she'd just experience still hadn't ended.

She was stretched out on an absurdly comfortable wicker bed, stripped completely nude, with pleasant aromas drifting up from the bandages wrapped around her torso and arms. A pleasant breeze, carrying with it the smell of the ocean, ruffled her hair and, somehow, made her relax even more than before, which was strange since she didn't even _like _the beach. Gulls circled overhead and the day was warm, but not stifling. This place felt like paradise.

The sound of soft voices caused her to turn her head, and she froze the instant she laid his eyes on the speakers. There were four of them and by God, even to a straight girl who didn't swing that way, they were some of the most beautiful women she'd ever seen. Two of them looked to be Colonel Trevor's age, with that battle-hardened, hard-won weary wisdom in their eyes she always saw when he looked at her, while the other two appeared to be barely in their twenties, just a few years younger than Etta herself, with raven-black hair in one instance and a deep brown in the other. One of the older ones was black and her skin was so dark it might as well have been carved from ebony. The tallest of the women was also the youngest but, from the way the others spoke to her, was very obviously in charge. Only one of them was not wearing archaic armor, though only the leader's appeared to be molded from metal.

With a soft groan, Etta forced herself to sit up. They were in a raised pavilion of some sort, constructed of what looked to be actual marble, and a squad of women did calisthenics in the sun below under the watchful eye of a woman whose age was frankly impossible to determine. Every single one of the women present was tall and in the kind of physical shape that Etta could only dream about reaching.

_Wonderful. I've died and gone to Super-Model Heaven_. She shook her head.

Apart from a single, uninterested glance, the women ignored her and continued their quiet conversation. Etta didn't recognize the language, but then, she'd always sucked when it came to different linguistics which had embarrassed the hell out of her dad who spoke, at last count, six different languages and was able to follow a conversation in at least twice that number. She glanced around for her clothes and, when she found no sign of them, Etta glared and rearranged the light sheet draped across her body. There was no sign of Lieutenant Colonel Trevor.

Actually, there was no sign of any men, anywhere, which was more than a tiny bit troubling.

"Excuse me," she called out. All four women glanced at her, their expressions remote but troubled. Etta forced the friendliest smile she could manage onto her face. "Do any of you speak English?"

"English." The unarmored woman nodded in response to the leader's glance. "I speak English." Her accent was curious – almost British, but with something else that almost brought to mind Indian. "I am Epione."

"Lieutenant Etta Candy, U.S. Navy, ma'am." Etta glanced around. "The man I came in with … Colonel Trevor? Is he okay?"

"Oh … kay?" The woman named Epione frowned and glanced up at the dark-haired leader who frowned.

"Is he your master?" the raven-haired youngster asked. Her voice was clipped and sharp, but not harsh and bore an equally unusual accent. Etta blinked and stared at the woman as if she had gone mad.

"My what?" she asked. "Listen, lady, I don't know who the hell you are or where I'm at, but … Jesus! No, he's not my damned _master._" Etta scowled at her. "What the hell kind of backwards place is this if that's the first thing you think when you look at a black woman?" She pointed at the ebony-skinned woman standing next to the girl. "Are you _her _master?" she demanded. "Is that how things are done here?"

"Peace," the dark-haired young woman said. She had colored under Etta's tirade and the other three women were not hiding their smiles very well. "Your ways are unfamiliar to us and it was decided-" this was said in a tone that implied the girl did not entirely agree with the decision; as a relatively junior officer who quite often had to shut her mouth and obey stupid orders from idiots whose only qualifications were that they'd served longer than she had, Etta knew _all _about that tone. "-that the Man could not be trusted, no matter that none may deceive the fires of Hestia." Etta frowned – she understood about half of that – but the young woman continued. "Let us begin anew: I am Diana, daughter of Hippolyta, and you are welcome to our island." She approached and crouched before Etta. "Your … Colonel?" She frowned again. "He said his name was Steve, not Colonel."

"It is Steve," Etta said. "Colonel is his title." Comprehension flashed across the dark-haired woman's – Diana? – face.

"Ah," she said. "That makes his answers more comprehensible … though why he could not have explained it thus I do not know." She shook her head. "No matter. He told us of how you came to our island but we would hear the tale from your lips fresh." Etta wet her lips.

"This is going to sound crazy," she started before glancing around and noting once more how archaic in terms of style everything looked. The clothes, the armor, the architecture, it was all from a bygone age. She shook her head. It probably _wouldn't _sound crazy to them. "There were monsters on the plane," she began.

\W/

Barely a day later, they left Paradise.

As beautiful and as peaceful as the island was, Steve was really glad to get away from it, mostly because he was frankly tired of being watched by all of these attractive, dangerously fit women like they expected him to sprout a second head or start breathing fire at any second. His understanding of Greek mythology was definitely untrustworthy since most of what he knew he'd gleaned from watching reruns of Xena back during college, but from what Etta told him once she was released, the women here were Amazons … which didn't really make much sense to him since that was a river in South America. He nodded and rolled with it, pretending to understand what the hell Lieutenant Candy was talking about all the while trying to get another look at the gorgeous vision in the gold and silver armor.

When the vision – Princess Diana, he learned, which always made him think of the British Di who'd died in the car crash – announced that she would be escorting him and Candy back to the States, Steve had almost expected to see a magic boat, or a horse with wings or hell, flying reindeer, but instead, the princess led the two of them through a palace of gold and shimmering marble and into a massive room containing a stone platform with a strange-looking doorway-shaped rectangle on top of it. Eight grim women with battle-scuffed armor and lethally sharp spears stood guard at specific points in the room Steve guessed were compass points. Another woman, this one with features strikingly similar to Princess Diana but not a lick of mercy in her eyes, was also present, and she was the only woman other than Lieutenant Candy not wearing armor. She exchanged sharp words in that gibberish of a language with the princess, glared very briefly at him, and Steve had the uncomfortable realization he was looking at the queen.

Despite the tension between them, Diana and the queen embraced, and then, the princess strode up the stairs to the doorway, gesturing for him and Candy to follow. He helped the lieutenant when she faltered slightly – it was amazing Etta was even able to walk already! – and, by the time they reached the top, the doorway was gone.

In its place was a hole in the air.

"This just keeps getting weirder and weirder," Steve muttered. He watched the princess step through the hole and vanish. Inhaling deeply, he followed.

And the world fell away in a blinding flash of light.

Steve was certain he heard Lieutenant Candy gasp … although, to be fair, it _might _have been him as he suddenly felt a rush of air and a disorienting sense of falling sideways – this was a dozen times worse than the few times he'd been parachuting. The air pressure was wildly intense, bordering almost on the painful, and breathing was more difficult than it should have been. He forced his legs into action – one step, the princess had said – and the wind that wasn't actually wind screamed at him. The blinding light intensified and then, with an audible _pop_, it faded.

And they were somewhere else entirely.

Steve staggered forward another step before dropping to his knees and inhaling deeply. Bile tickled the back of his throat and he focused on not throwing up. Beside him, he felt rather than saw Etta do the same thing. His muscles trembled and his mind raced. What the hell was that? And why was his body freaking out like this?

"Breathe deeply," the princess ordered from where she stood behind him. "Your discomfort should pass momentarily." Her voice betrayed no such 'discomfort' and it took a moment for Steve to recognize how distracted she sounded. He forced his head up, trying desperately to ignore the dwindling but still overpowering vertigo, and found himself looking at an American city. They were in a park somewhere, with exquisitely cut grass and well-trimmed trees framing skyscrapers in the far distance. The princess' eyes were riveted upon the structures of steel and glass.

"Hera," she murmured softly, her tone one of awe. It was the first time since he'd first looked upon her that Steve had seen her less than a hundred percent certain. She slowly turned in place, her eyes wide. "Hera," she repeated before glancing briefly toward Steve. "Have you ever seen structures so high?" she asked. "Is this the abode of giants?"

"Actually, I think it's Boston," Etta rasped. She too had recovered enough to look up, but unlike Steve, her eyes weren't riveted on the vision of dark-haired beauty. Diana blinked.

"Then this is your home?" She frowned. "Why would you need such mighty buildings?"

"There are a _lot _of people in Boston," Steve replied. He forced himself to his feet, balancing awkwardly on unsteady legs, and offered Lieutenant Candy a hand.

"Then I look forward to discovering what other wonders this world holds." The princess gave them both a brief, appraising look. "You have recovered," she declared. "Good. We shall part company here. I have my own tasks to undertake. I wish you safe travels." And without another word, she looked up.

And _flew away._

Steve stared at the dwindling figure as she vanished into the clouds over the city, knowing his jaw had dropped. He glanced at Candy and found her doing much the same.

"A flying princess from an island of magical super-models," the lieutenant muttered. "How the hell are we going to explain this one, sir?"

"Is it any worse than an alien who shoots lasers out of his eyes and bench-presses tanks?" He fumbled his wallet out of his flight suit pocket. "Boston … that's Hanscom Air Force Base." Nodding toward the street, he continued. "Let's get a cab so we can report in."

"Command is going to love this," Etta mumbled.

\W/

The trail she followed was a twisty, erratic one that carried her across the length of the city.

At any other time, she would have loved to been able to pause and study the incredible buildings and architecture of this Boss Town as Etta Candy called it, but the wonders of this world would have to wait. The enchanted token Menalippe had provided her would not last long – already, Diana could feel its power leaking away – and if she was to locate the Warbringer, she had to act quickly. So she pushed aside her intense desire to simply stop and gape at the marvelous towers of glass and stone, and instead, focused on her hunt.

As befit a Lord of Olympus, Ares' trail was not limited to the Earth. It carried her to the top of the mightiest buildings, through the lowest of sewers, and then, to the middle of the bay which was teeming with boats of all sizes. Her ability to soar through the air drew much notice and she soon had two … things pursuing her though they could not maneuver as well as she and were certainly slower. Both carried occupants, which made them aerial chariots of a sort, and were held aloft by rapidly spinning blades. Despite her haste, she did pause ever so briefly to admire the ingenuity behind such conveyances before pressing on.

To her disgust, the trail led directly back to the same park that she'd arrived in with Colonel Trevor and Lieutenant Candy. She found the source of her hunt quickly enough – he sat alone on a wide bench that gave him an excellent view of the city proper. Rather than the monstrous form she'd seen earlier, he appeared as an old man, bald of head with a white beard that fell to his chest. His rumpled clothes looked much the same as those worn by the inhabitants of this world … but he was without shoes.

And he stank of blood.

At her approach, he smiled and looked up. Diana felt a frisson of terror crawl up her spine at the black emptiness she found where his eyes should have been.

"Lord Ares," she said in a calm voice. It would be improper to not show a God his due respect, even one as dark and terrible as this one. "I have been charged by Olympus to take you into custody and return you to Father Zeus." The old man cackled.

"Have you indeed?" He leaned back and studied her. "I have slumbered for nigh on seventy years, my dear," he said simply. "I have no desire to return to my father's prison." The God of War made a broad gesture with one hand, encompassing the whole of the city. "I had thought my time away from this world would have lessened my presence but these people, these humans, they worship me more than ever." He smiled. "The names may change – overseas contingency operations, international coalitions, jihad … jihad. Such a lovely word … so easy to abuse." The old man chuckled. "And abuse it I shall. I will remind them all what true War is." With startling speed, he pushed himself to his feet. "There is a place within my host for you, Child, should you be willing to set aside this foolish duty set before you." Diana squared her shoulders and dropped her hand upon the Lariat at her side.

"With respect, Lord Ares," she replied, "I must decline." The God of War nodded.

"I would expect no less from the daughter of Hippolyta," he said with another smile. "Children," he called out loudly, "attend me." A pair of figures materialized at his side. One was tall and broad, with curly blonde hair that flared out from his head like a lion's man, while the other was slender and cold of bearing. Both were garbed in uniforms nearly identical to those Colonel Trevor and Lieutenant Candy wore, but that was where any similarity ended. "Deimos, Phobos," the God of War said, "kill her." He flickered out of existence with a sudden boom that caused Menalippe's token to burst into flames, but Diana barely noticed.

Because two gods were trying to kill her.

\W/

"That's the most ridiculous story I've ever heard." The general speaking was one Steve knew only by reputation – Lane was Army, after all, and Trevor didn't make it a habit of hanging out with four stars, especially those in a different service branch – so he wisely kept his mouth shut. It was a surreal experience, being alternately chewed out and interrogated by the Joint Chiefs over a video connection, but Steve had to admit, it definitely beat having it happen in person. Less spit from emotional officers, and far less chance for him to lose his temper and punch one of them. "Under normal circumstances, I'd have you both thrown into a deep, dark hole for the rest of your lives … but things have changed…"

"Sir?" Steve exchanged a confused look with Candy.

"An hour after you dropped off their scopes, the _Bush _was attacked by what could only be called monsters." Admiral Strom announced. The Chief of Naval Operations, he was the oldest and most recognizable of the officers on the video screen. "These … creatures you describe are identical."

"We were forced to request assistance from the … Kryptonian to retake the _Bush_," Lane said sourly, "and even he had some trouble with them."

"More importantly," Strom added grimly, "we're getting unsubstantiated reports of this sort of thing happening all over the globe." He glowered. "If your information is correct and this is the prelude to a larger invasion-" In mid-sentence, he cut off as a disturbance drew his and the other Joint Chiefs' attention. At almost the exact same moment, a master sergeant rushed to where Steve was standing.

"Metahumans fighting in downtown!" he exclaimed. Steve looked at a television on the far side of the room and his breath caught.

It was Diana.

\W/

She struck the unyielding stone of a building and felt it shatter into lethal fragments underneath the impact, but Diana refused to cry out in pain.

Instead, she let her body go limp and rolled to the ground before spinning back to her feet, the invisible shield at the ready. It caught another spray of acid from Deimos, now almost completely transformed into an armed snake-man. His brother, Phobos, roared with fury, features still stuck halfway between lion and man. Blood dripped from all three of them – the battle, begun nearly a half turn of the glass ago and very quickly carried from the park into the city, had gone ill for all – and Diana's chest was heaving with exhaustion, but she would not yield.

By Hera, she would _not _yield.

With a shout of her own, she sprang up into the air, twisting and spinning to come down upon Phobos with all of her might. Her _xiphos _sang as she ducked around his blindingly fast counter-blow and slammed the sword into his chest. The blade shrieked as it pierced his godly flesh and he staggered back, aggression and rage dwindling away. Whining softly like a wounded cat, he fell, the suddenness of his defeat tearing her weapon away.

But again, Diana refused to hesitate. _Seize the initiative whenever you can, _her instructors had told her. _Create your own opportunities and use your enemy's strengths against them. _Phobos had been strong but not fast – his brother was the inverse.

With her now empty sword arm, she snatched the Lariat free from where it dangled off her armor and threw herself into the sky. Deimos could not fly – neither of them had seemed to possess this gift – but he was able to scale walls so quickly it almost seemed that he could translocate at will. He would scramble up and over, then hug the edges and strike from distance … so she did not allow him to do so. Where before she'd sought distance to better protect the screaming masses fleeing from their conflict (and potentially maneuver Phobos into the acid spray, she had to admit), this time, Diana arced over the stone roof and accelerated toward where she knew Deimos would appear.

Hephaestus' translucent shield smashed into Deimos' scaly face with terrific force as he breached the rooftop, and the snake-man flew back under the force of the blow, slamming into the great window of the building next to them. Blood flew, both from the impact of the shield and from the shards of glass as they punctured his flesh. Diana pursued, pushing harder against the staggered Deimos, and they crashed through another stone structure, slamming into the ground beyond. She flicked her wrist and the Lariat obeyed, coiling around the momentarily stunned snake-man before he could recover.

"Yield!" she ordered and to her great relief, he froze in place.

The sounds of battle abruptly faded and she realized that eyes were upon her. Looking up, she found hundreds if not thousands of frightened people staring or pointing. There were men and women, boys and girls, some with skin like Phillipus' and others who were paler than even Menalippe, and all of them were staring. She saw confusion and fear, shock and amazement. Some of them approached hesitantly – there were dressed alike, in clothes of dark blue with identical devices upon their breasts and weapons in hand like the one Steve had used against her. Guards or some sort? Warriors? No matter.

"Stay your hands," she called out, glad that Athena's gift of wisdom had allowed her to learn Trevor's language so quickly. "I am no enemy." She rose, pulling Deimos up – the crowd and the blue-garbed men gasped at the barely moving half-man, half-serpent tangled up in the Lariat.

"Diana!" A familiar voice cried out and she turned her head. There, weaving his way through the crowd and accompanied by a number of stern-looking men with strange weapons, was Colonel Trevor. He flashed something to one of the blue-garbed men and rapidly approached. His step faltered at the sight of Deimos. "Bobby?" he asked hesitantly. The snake-man did not respond, its eyes intent on Diana. She glanced at Trevor, then back at Deimos. His now shredded clothes … yes, he had been wearing the same garments as Steve. She briefly recalled the colonel's tale, of fellow pilots slain by Ares' monsters. Or not slain, as it would appear, but instead, pressed into his service. Diana sighed.

"I fear your friend is gone, Colonel Trevor," she said. "His spirit was consumed by Deimos who used his flesh to visit grief to your world." She gave him a consoling look. "I regret your loss." Turning her eyes back to Deimos, she frowned. "Speak only Truth, son of Ares," she ordered. Deimos hissed and writhed. "What is your father's plan? Tell me now."

"Chaos," the snake-man hissed. "A weapon of incalculable destruction fired in the heart of this mighty nation's seat of power." Deimos shrieked – the blue-garbed men and those that had accompanied Trevor stepped back, but to his credit, the colonel did not. "War will come as these mortals lash out against those they hate and fear!" Smoke began trickling up from the snake-man, causing even more trepidation and concern. But strangely, not for Trevor.

"Washington," he said in a horrified whisper. "He's going to hit Washington."

"War comes!" Deimos exclaimed before jerking and twitching. His skin flaked away , bursting into flames as his soul departed the mortal shell it had briefly occupied. With startling rapidity, the body encased in her Lariat collapsed in upon itself and disintegrated. Diana ignored it. There was no time to think on whether the godling was truly dead or had simply escaped.

"Point me to this Washing Town," she ordered as she secured the Lariat to her belt. She should not have been surprised to discover her _xiphos _was once more in its scabbard – truly, Lord Hephaestus did marvelous work. "I must get there at once!"

"It's four hundred miles from here," Trevor said instantly. You'll never-"

He did not finish his remark as Diana stepped closer to him, seized him with her right arm, and threw them both into the sky. Trevor made a most unpleasant sound of surprise as she arrowed them up toward the clouds, calling upon the magics in her shield bracer to envelop them both.

"Which direction?" she asked. Trevor pointed, his eyes wide, and Diana altered their trajectory. She ground her teeth together and pushed for greater speed.

And the skies over Boston boomed with their passage.

\W/

By the time they reached D.C., Steve was ready to swear off flying completely.

He considered himself a fairly intelligent man but, for the life of him, simply could not fathom how Diana was able to do what she was doing. They streaked across the sky at speeds far in excess of the sound barrier … yet somehow, the g-forces that should have turned his body into mush were simply absent. Seeing the coast streak by and knowing that only her hold on him – and dear God, she had muscles like steel rebar – was preventing him from tumbling to a messy end … yeah. If he got out of this, he was going to get a nice, comfortable desk job and swear off flying forever.

The sound of gunfire caused the princess to angle sharply toward the Pentagon as they breached Washington air space and, as they drew closer, Steve felt his stomach lurch. Monsters straight out of legend hacked and slashed their way through unarmed soldiers, airmen, marines and officers. There were giants with just one-eye, and actual walking skeletons, and a thing with a bull's head and biceps thicker than Steve's head, and …

Diana did not hesitate. Before he realized what was happening, Steve found himself rolling on the grass as she released him and pounced, hurling herself into the center of the skeletons and going to town with that short sword of hers. In seconds, she'd decimated their ranks and bounded straight toward one of the giants with a loud shout that drew its attention. Steve shook his head and somehow managed to tear his eyes away. Bomb. Right. There was a bomb somewhere around here.

He linked up with a team of armed Marines several steps later and their commander – a gray-haired man who looked like you could break rocks with his face – provided him with a sidearm. None of the Jarheads were officers and most looked like they were barely out of diapers. To his surprise, they also had a dark-suited civilian with them. It took Steve all of three seconds to recognize him.

"Bruce Wayne?" He stared at the torn suit and knuckles that showed obvious signs of recent use. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Contract talks," Wayne replied with a smirk that barely touched his eyes. Up close, he seemed larger than the gossip rags made him out to be. "Trying to steal some of LexCorp's business." He gestured toward where Diana had felled one of the giants and was moving against a second – many of the soldiers and Marines who had armed themselves were rallying behind her. "I wasn't expecting _Clash of the Titans _for lunch_._" A hollow boom announced the passage of Diana's latest foe – it smashed into a concrete wall and toppled – and she arrowed over them toward a cluster of other monsters. Steve bit back a curse – at the very center of that formation was a man-shaped thing encased in shadows and fire.

Ares. It had to be.

"Follow me!" he shouted as he sprang forward.

Monsters and men wearing armor obsolete for thousands of years seemed to spring out of nowhere, wielding tooth and claw and blade with frightening capability. Against modern firearms, they possessed no great resistance but their sheer numbers more than made up for that. Steve lost half of his Marines in their initial charge, but picked up a mixed squad of Army and Navy guys and continued their assault. To his surprise, Wayne more than held his own – the billionaire never once picked up a gun that Steve saw, but he punched and kicked and pulled out some crazy judo shit that was borderline amazing. Then again, the man _was _from Gotham and in Trevor's experience, there were two kinds of people who lived there: fighters or corpses.

He lost sight of Diana as she tore through Ares' horde, but several minutes later, just as his team punched through the monster's formation, he caught sight of her again, this time squaring off against the shadowy figure he took to be the God of War. They slashed and battered at one another, with Ares laughing and shouting what had to be insults in that language Trevor had heard on Themyscira. The two passed from sight once more and Steve would have considered giving chase to lend assistance if it wasn't for one thing.

And that thing was an armed thermonuclear device.

"Oh, shit," he whispered as he and his squad – he'd lost some more people, picked up a couple new ones – fanned out around the bomb. "Anyone EOD?" he asked hopefully. Once again, Wayne surprised him.

"That's a WayneTech DT-3600 it's attached to," he said, kneeling in front of the device. He flipped open a phone. "I might be able to disarm it."

"In three minutes?" Steve glanced around – the men and women of his squad … boys and girls, really, were all on the verge of panic.

"Keep the monsters away," Wayne replied, "and I'll do my best." He popped open the tiny computer case, all the while eyeing his phone. Steve would have said something, would have wished him luck, but the monsters in question chose that moment to attack once more. Shouting orders, he emptied several rounds into a bird with metallic feathers.

And in doing so, he never saw or heard Bruce Wayne make a very quick phone call.

\W/

Ares' rage was terrible to behold.

His blows rained down upon her shield with such force that each sent her skidding back across the ground or into the metal conveyances arrayed around the strangely-shaped compound. With a roar, he kicked great plumes of dirt and stone through the air at her, before once more rushing forward at impossible speeds. Defense was not an option – he was the God of War and would easily smash through even the stiffest of shields – so Diana chose evasion. She counter-charged, then threw herself hard to his left, accelerating rapidly to put as much distance as she could manage between them.

"You little whore!" Ares bellowed. He hurled something at her – it was another of the wheeled conveyances – and she narrowly dodged it as it smashed into the earth. "I offered you a place at my side," he snarled, "but now, all you will have is a place on your knees!" With blinding speed, he covered the distance between them and brought his black sword down in an mighty overhand slash. At the last instant, Diana shifted her stance, kicking out with one foot while ducking back from the blow. It was just enough – the kick wasn't enough to truly hurt him, but it did knock him off-balance enough that he had to stagger to avoid falling. Diana danced back.

"Yield, my Lord," she said simply. Her eyes darted for something that would be adequate to slow him and alighted upon a formation of the warriors who had defended against Ares' onslaught. They were armed with the long weapons she had see unleash such fierce destruction earlier and none of them seemed inclined to hold back. She shifted her position, so as to better conceal their approach from the god's eyes.

"I am the God of War!" Ares bellowed as he righted himself. His sword whistled toward her once more, forcing her to dive away from it. Her own _xiphos _clattered on the ground as she released it and Ares stomped an armored foot upon the blade, shattering it with a loud boom. "This world will be mine!"

"To Hades with you," one of the warriors shouted in passable Greek. Ares half-turned, his eyes burning with fury.

And the warriors of this Washing Town unleashed their own rage upon him.

The din was intense and Diana instinctively threw up Hephaestus' shield to protect herself from the onslaught of projectiles that erupted from their weapons. Ares was caught off-guard and the warriors' fire caused him to stagger back. Knowing it would be inadequate, Diana ducked behind one of the overturned metal conveyances, seized it by the thick metal upon its undercarriage, and threw herself and her makeshift weapon toward Ares' back. She struck with crushing force – the metal chariot crumpled around the god – and without hesitation, hurled herself back and up, staying out of Ares' reach. He stumbled forward, roaring with rage as he tore the conveyance away and sent it sliding across the ground. With a flex of his legs, he sprang up into the air toward her.

And caught another wave of defensive fire from yet another team of warriors squarely upon his chest.

Diana surged forward, diving toward him as he struck the ground with a shudder. She smote him with both fists, the impact actually denting the metal of his helmet, before rolling away from his counter-strike and darting away once more. He was no fool – this time, he did not pursue, but instead clambered to his feet. Black fire curled up from his hands as he glared at her.

A sudden buzz was the only warning either of them had of new combatants and a line of what looked to be solid light lashed out from a newly arrived wheeled conveyance and tore into Ares. He howled with pain, and Diana leapt forward once more. This time, she snatched the Lariat from her waist – it had worked against Deimos. Would it hold the God of War? Her invisible shield sparked and glittered from the rain of metal being unleashed by the military chariot, but held long enough for her to get within reach of Ares. She ducked underneath his wide swing and the Lariat curled out, wrapping around him and flashing brilliantly. Ares struggled for a moment and the golden rope burned even brighter.

Ares fell.

\W/

Bruce was worried.

The counter was rapidly dropping – under thirty seconds now – and his damned ace in the hole was late. Around him, the lieutenant colonel – someone called him Trevor during the firefight – had organized a sufficient defense for the moment, but they were starting to run low on ammunition. Casualties were high as well, though not as bad as the initial charge.

"Wayne!" The colonel sounded as concerned as Bruce felt, but a bare second later, a sense of displaced air changed the mood. "Oh, God," Trevor said, his tone one of abject relief. "Am I glad to see you!"

"Took you long enough," Bruce snapped. Even in his stress, he managed to keep his voice soft. No one else would be able to hear him. Dressed in his distinctive Kryptonian garb, Clark smirked.

"You should stand clear," he ordered.

\W/

The sound of battle abruptly ceased.

All around them, the dead men and things Ares had summoned collapsed or simply melted away into smoke, leaving behind only carnage and death. Encased in the Lariat, the God of War fell to his knees. He was defeated but still defiant.

"Hephaestus," he snarled as he strained against the Lariat. "I will destroy him."

"I think not, my Lord," Diana said. Her breath was still coming in ragged gasps and she hurt all over. She gave the warriors in the metal conveyance a thankful nod and gestured for the others to stand easy. It was an instinctive gesture on her part but the obeyed hesitantly. Many, upon seeing the God of War captured, turned immediately to their dead and wounded.

"You think me beaten," Ares said with a dark smile. "It is you who are beaten. You who are out of time." He looked in the direction of the strange five-sided building and Diana followed the direction of his gaze. A blur of blue and red flashed up into the sky, shaking the very air with its passage, and the God of War inhaled sharply in surprise.

And a long moment later, a star flashed overhead in the daylight sky. All eyes turned toward it, including Diana's. She was curious but too exhausted, too sore to care exactly what had happened. The rush of battle dwindled and vanished, leaving her barely able to stay upright. A flutter of movement to her side warned her of Lord Hermes' arrival and, when she looked at him, she could not help but to notice that time itself seemed to have come to a stop around them.

"I come bearing tidings from Father Zeus," Hermes announced. He smiled bleakly at Ares. "He is most displeased at your actions and declares that you must serve a penance." Ignoring the snarling curses coming from the God of War's mouth, the Messenger shifted his unearthly eyes to Diana. "Ensure he remains wrapped in Hestia's fire," he instructed. "He will remain powerless until released." With another smile, Hermes was gone.

And time restarted.

\W/

An unheard summons drew her to Hera's temple.

None of the guards reacted to her passage – since Diana's departure on this fool's mission, Hippolyta had spent a great deal of time in reflection and prayer – but she could sense them silently filing out around her, forming a protective ring of armor to watch over their troubled queen. She would have smiled, but a terrible warning in her heart warned her against appearing happy or even content.

Kneeling before the elaborately carved representation of the Queen of the Gods, Hippolyta closed her eyes and once again whispered her sincere hope for her daughter's safety. Diana's fate was out of her hands but she hoped …

"Ares is bound once more," a strong voice announced. Hippolyta gasped and promptly bowed her head. The statue was suddenly alive and strode across the temple. "But your daughter's tasks are not yet complete."

"Yes, my queen," Hippolyta murmured. She looked up and froze at the look Hera was giving her. She knew. Oh, Gods, she knew.

"I do," Hera said in response to the unspoken question. "And I am … displeased at your lack of loyalty to me, Hippolyta."

"I am to blame, my queen," Hippolyta said instantly. "Not Diana. Not my tribe." The Queen of the Gods snorted.

"You are no more to blame than any of the others," she said in a frosty tone. "Had you not raised your daughter to be true to me, _then_ there would be talk of reprisal." Hera looked away. "The trials before your daughter will make those of Alcaeus seem soft, I fear," she said and Hippolyta felt her heart freeze in her chest. "Darkness comes and your daughter must be a beacon of light. Pray for her, Hippolyta. Pray for us all."

The statue was once more cold marble.

And Hippolyta began to pray.

\W/

The day had already vanished into night, but still, Diana could not tear herself from the words engraved upon the wall.

Steve had told her this President Lincoln was a great leader of his people, a man who had taken his nation to war to undo a terrible injustice, and indeed, upon reading his words, she could not deny the eloquence of his words. He wrote of liberty and freedom … but spoke only of Men. Equality among the sexes was something that would take many more years, Steve had admitted, but she had her doubts that it was so.

Still, the dark-skinned woman who took charge of Ares, yet bound in a piece of Hestia's Lariat cut from the whole – which strangely seemed no different in length after the fact – was proof that this … America had advanced somewhat. There was no denying how quickly men stepped when ordered to by that Ms. Waller who spoke softly and watched all with the eyes of a predator.

Upon turning over Ares, Diana had expected her task to be complete, but Hermes had returned once more with a new mission from Olypmus – to wage peace with Patriarch's World. It seemed a nonsensical task, one that could have no end or beginning, but she was silently grateful as it meant she could continue to see the wonders of this world. There was so much to see in this world, so many places to visit that she had heard of only in story or not at all.

The clearing of a male throat behind almost caused her to sigh in frustration. Steve's interest in her was not wholly unappreciated – he was pleasant to look at certainly, and nothing like the repulsive, misogynistic trolls her mother had claimed all men to be like – but she was simply not interested at the moment. There was too much to see, too many things to do.

"Did you forget something, Steve?" she asked, the name feeling awkward on her lips. He had insisted she use it instead of his rank and she had finally acquiesced.

"I'm not Colonel Trevor," an unfamiliar voice said. Instantly, Diana spun, automatically assuming a battle-ready stance in case of attack, but the stranger did not move. He floated there, a half foot above the ground with both hands hanging at his side. The clothes he wore were striking – dark blue dominated, with red boots and a cape of crimson. An unusual crest covered his wide, muscular chest and his face was pleasing to look upon. He was smiling and she recognized him from the various photographs she had seen throughout the day.

"Superman," she said carefully. Oh, how her mother would loath a being with such a name, especially one that seemed to be an Adonis given flesh. He smiled wryly.

"Wonder Woman," he replied, using the ridiculous moniker some fool herald named Kent had draped upon her. "My name is actually Kal-El," the man in blue and red stated. "And I wanted to meet you." He nodded to one side. "_We _wanted to meet you." A shadow detached itself from where it lurked and resolved into a man wearing armor and a mask that concealed his face.

"We need to talk," the newcomer rasped.

\W/

The cell was cramped and untidy, with no comforts whatsoever, but Ares, God of War, paid it no mind.

He sat calmly on the bed, his hands still bound by the damnable Lariat, and refused to even look at his shackles. When he escaped, his vengeance would be terrible. The Amazon would be first – and how had she been able to stand against his wrath? None save other Olympians had ever done so! He frowned. Perhaps … perhaps Father had strayed once more? It would require some further study.

"You struck too early," a soft voice declared from the shadows. Ares looked in that direction.

"Fortune favors those who do not cower," he said. "Have I not done as you ordered?"

And Zeus, father of the Olympian Gods, nodded.

* * *

**A/N #2: **So, yeah. I did some judicious picking and choosing.

+ Stuck with the pre-Flashpoint role of Ares as the big bad ... for now. :) His non-armored form in the park is clearly intended to look like the old guy we see in the Azz nu52 book, but I'm not going that full on route. I'm just sticking with the original take on the character, one that is backed by Iliad and Odyssey where Ares is seen as a raving lunatic, even by the other Olympians. In my opinion, War hasn't moderated or become any more civilized in the last millenia or so...

+ Went with the nu52 idea of Diana being Zeus' daughter. I love that idea - so obvious in retrospect.

+ Went with Young Justice notion of Diana being nearly a century old.

+ New spin on Etta Candy.

+ New take on the WW outfit. If you got to albums** i18. photobucket b144 /RigilKent /20130609-224040 . jpg** (removing spaces - man, I hate how this site strips the URL info...), that's kind of how I envision Diana here rather than the swimsuit look. Don't care that is says "Donna Troy." (I haven't been able to figure out how to make Donna work in the context of Di = Zeus' kid.) Plus? "Invisible" shield that can be expanded and altered in size. Heh.

So drop me a line. Tell me how I'm doing. Tell me what you like, and what you dislike.


	3. Year Three: League

**Year Three: League**

**Author's Note: **This is probably the most action-oriented chapter of the entire story, I think ... though with how things play out, who knows?

* * *

**Rise in Number of Metahumans Troubling, Government Says**

_Published October 16, 2015 / Lois Lane_

WASHINGTON, D.C. – The rapid increase in unsanctioned superhumans operating within the United States is troubling, Department of Metahuman Affairs Director Amanda Waller told US lawmakers Thursday, adding that unless action is taken soon, federal law enforcement will soon be unable to handle the added threats.

"Even working in conjunction with known non-hostiles like Kal-El or Princess Diana of Themyscira, we are facing a critical understaffing in all areas," Waller said, as the US administration tries to sell its plan for increasing the DoMA budget by $30 billion.

The hearing grew contentious when Waller refused to comment on allegations that her department was linked in any way to the controversial Cadmus Project, recently revealed to the press by anonymous whistleblowers and confirmed by Congressional oversight investigations. Director Waller is expected to invoke her Fifth Amendment rights in next week's Senate committee hearing regarding her involvement with the extra-legal activities taken.

**Click for more from Daily Planet Online**

/-\

His guests were late.

It was just as well – Bruce himself had only just returned to the Cave and still stunk of sweat, blood and, embarrassingly, perfume. That damned thief in the catsuit had been in a … playful mood tonight when he encountered her in the Diamond District and he'd got a face full of something expensive but pleasant-smelling when he tried to put an end to her latest silly game. She should never have been allowed to get that close and it was his own damned fault. He was just lucky she hadn't wanted to hurt him. And then, she'd led him in a pointless chase across the city that ended when he lost her in the East End. She always ended their game … she always went to ground there, which was another data point to consider.

The sound of voices in the west tunnel was not his first warning that Clark and Diana had arrived – well hidden motion detectors and cameras had identified their rapid approach and recorded their aerial game of tag which Diana always referred to as training and Clark called 'goofing off with someone else who can fly' – but his mood soured further at their laughter and apparent good cheer. Being around them when he'd had such a frustrating night was always difficult, especially if they were in such high spirits.

"No, that would result in a roughing the passer penalty," Clark said as the two floated through the tunnel and toward to the wide platform dominated by Bruce's current car obsession. "Once the quarterback has released the ball, the defense has to avoid hitting him like that … unless he tries to block for someone on his team." Diana gave him a sour look.

"What a ridiculous game," she muttered. Ever the Kansan who grew up on the sport she now ridiculed, Clark gave her an equally annoyed look.

"Don't shoot the messenger," he replied. "You're the one who asked me to explain the game to you."

"I did not expect it make so little sense." For a change, she was not wearing her full battle armor – instead, a white peplos concealed much of her body, although Bruce wasn't entirely convinced that the clothes weren't simply hiding her silver and gold cuirass from sight. She had pulled some equally impossible things out of mid-air before, such as the pair of glasses she'd presented to Clark as a birthday gift earlier this year. Specially crafted by Hephaestus himself, they did … something to Kent's face when he wore them that made him less memorable, despite his physical size. His features weren't actually changed – he still looked the same, he was just easier to forget. To Bruce's continued disgust, it required more than a small bit of effort on his part to circumvent the effects, and Kent delighted in the gift for the freedom to walk among humanity it provided. He had not been doing too badly on his own, but the glasses helped immensely.

"You're late," Bruce snapped as the two approached. They exchanged a look he recognized – it was their patented 'Bruce is being grumpy today' expression, which he saw far too often – and that only darkened his mood further.

"Sorry about that," Clark said with a bright smile. He nudged Diana with one elbow. "_Somebody _got the fool notion in her head that she was faster than I am so we had to have a race." The princess scowled.

"Our next competition will be maneuverability," she said. Bruce grunted in dark amusement at how quickly the smile slipped from Clark's face. For all of his abilities, the Kryptonian was about as subtle as a rock and he would just as soon smash through a wall than go around it.

"Looking forward to it," Clark said in a voice that implied the exact opposite. "So, I was in California yesterday," he began, as if his fight with the bizarre clone of him that Bruce was convinced Luthor was behind had not been televised on every news network on the planet, "and I ran into the Green Lantern."

"Hal Jordan," Bruce murmured. Clark sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Bruce. You were right. Jordan is the Lantern." Diana frowned.

"What is a Green Lantern?" she asked.

"Sort of a space cop," Clark replied. "The next time you're at the Fortress, I'll have the A.I. give you a data-dump on them."

"The sooner the better," she stated. "I dislike being in the dark."

"How's this weekend? Lois is in Ankara, covering the G20 Summit, so I'm free … pending world-shaking calamity, of course."

"Of course." Diana paused, her eyes turning distant. "I will need to consult with Steve," she said after a moment, "but I believe I am free." She smirked. "Pending world-shaking calamity, of course," she repeated. Clark snickered and looked to be on the verge of saying something else, but Bruce cleared his throat. He was too damned tired to put up with their jokes. Clark gave him a sheepish look.

"Where was I?" Kent asked.

"Hal Jordan," Bruce said darkly.

"Right. So, he confirmed our theory – there have been at least a dozen extraterrestrial events in the last month and he hasn't been able to identify their origin either."

"So it's beginning." Bruce leaned back in his seat and glared at the monitor. "And we're not ready."

"I invited him to Gotham next week," Clark continued, earning himself a black look. He shrugged. "Give me _some _credit. I didn't tell him who you were. We can use that Clocktower base of yours for the meet, can't we?"

"I could ask Barry Allen to attend as well," Diana offered quickly. She had met the speedster several months earlier and had been impressed by his professionalism. "He expressed interest in Kal's idea about a team." Her use of Kent's Kryptonian name had long since ceased making Bruce smirk, even though, as far as he knew, she was the only one aware of Clark's dual identity that used it. Even Kent called himself by his Earth name. A mischievous look crossed her face. "Perhaps you can race him," she said to Clark. "Your news media is calling him the fastest man alive, after all."

Before Kent could respond – he had an expression that looked torn between interested and insulted – Bruce's computers began beeping an alarm. He frowned at the results crawling across the screen. All five of his satellites, retrofitted with specialized sensory capability designed for this very thing, had identified massive energy spikes within Metropolis city limits. He started to open his mouth, to tell Clark and Diana about the threat.

But the two were already gone.

"So that's what that feels like," he murmured as he turned back to his computers.

/-\

They surged up through the clouds together, still at subsonic speeds, but Clark held his tongue.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noted that Diana's white dress was gone and, in its place, she was wearing the battle armor he so often saw her in. Her expression was one he rarely saw: disgruntled. Though she might try to deny it and quite frankly did whenever it was brought up, she had a competitive streak a mile wide and hated being inferior in any way. His superior speed was once such item of contention between them … and now, it was essential.

So he waited.

"Give me your hand," Diana finally said, her lips tight. She offered her right arm and he took it, shivering slightly as something cold but unseen slid over them both. Automatically, his eyes shifted briefly to the bracer she wore on her left arm and was now holding tightly to her chest. It gleamed and glittered, but even his enhanced senses could not discern its power source or the extent of the invisible shield surrounding them both.

_Magic, _he scoffed mentally. Any sufficiently advanced technology and all that.

With the forcefield protecting them, Clark _pushed _against gravity and they soared upward, faster than Diana would normally be capable of. He felt them shatter the sound barrier but continued to accelerate. In seconds, they breached the upper atmosphere and arced down, the sheer speed of their re-entry causing her shield to spark and glitter against the atmosphere. Already, Clark could see Metropolis, even though it was still a hundred miles away and his expression darkened at the chaos enveloping Little Bohemia. Fires were raging and several figures, larger than normal humans, bounded from rooftop to rooftop, pausing upon each landing to blast away with some sort of energy weapon. A pair of police helicopters orbited the district and, with a bit of effort, Clark could see sharpshooters firing from the choppers. He let go of Diana's hand and felt her shield pull away from him.

"Take them," she instructed softly. "I will see to the fires." Clark nodded.

And dove toward the arsonists.

A quick x-ray scan as he approached revealed an unexpected anomaly – these things weren't human. Their internal skeletal structure was similar enough to that of a man, but their brains were much smaller and the general density of their entire bodies was much greater. The weapons they fired appeared directly connected to them via tiny cables and wires. If he wasn't mistaken, they actually seemed to be using their own endothermic biologic functions to power the devices in some way he did not fully comprehend. Clark pushed the concerns aside. Step one in containing this incident was obvious: get these damned things away from populated areas.

Streaking past one of the helicopters, he smashed into the first of the non-human things at just under three hundred miles per hour, dropping his shoulder and tackling the thing before it even knew he was there. His speed rapidly dropping, he carried the thing several hundred feet over the bay, frying its gun connections with his heat vision and crushing the weapon with his hand before releasing the creature to fall into the water. Arcing up, he hovered there for a fraction of a second, confirming with his enhanced vision that the thing was briefly neutralized, before pouring on another burst of speed and aiming toward another of the creatures. This one seemed warned of his approach and opened fire with the energy weapon. Clark rolled out of the way of the incoming blast, which only slightly altered his approach vector. This time, he left his outstretched fist lead the way and he struck the thing square in its armored chest. He felt the cuirass crumple – the armor wasn't metal, but neither was it organic – and the kinetic force of his blow threw the thing into the sky. It tumbled end over end, and would have smashed into another building, causing even more damage, but Clark accelerated once more, streaking past the same helicopter he'd buzzed earlier and snatching the non-human thing at the apex of its flight. A flash of heat vision and a squeeze rendered its weapons powerless. It did not resist and he smirked at the realization his initial strike had knocked it unconscious.

"I have the third one under control, Kal," Diana's voice drifted to his ears. Clark glanced up and found her, hovering at the far end of the district, the last of the non-human things hanging limply from the entangling golden lasso she carried. He returned his attention to the thing he'd captured and gave it a more thorough examination. If he had to guess, Clark would say it was some sort of cybernetic being – the gold and crimson armor it wore appeared melded completely with the creature's body, and a pair of round ocular devices completely replaced both eyes. It only had three fingers and a thumb on either hand – a sweep of x-rays confirmed an identical number of digits on its feet – and the teeth … nothing natural needed that many teeth.

"Appreciate the assist," Captain Sawyer said when he floated down to join her several moments later. As the senior commander of Metropolis' newly formed special crimes unit, she had a unique position within the police department – she and her team officially belonged to every precinct in the city but was permanently assigned to none of them, which gave her wide latitude and an unprecedented level of autonomy. Even more curious, she answered only to the mayor.

"I was in the neighborhood," Clark replied, dropping his unconscious hostile onto the ground where a team of SCU cops swarmed forward to secure it. "You should call in STAR Labs," he added. "These things aren't human."

"Noted." Sawyer glanced away from him and smirked at the approach of Diana. "Date night?" she asked, the remark causing Clark to give her a sour frown. He wasn't sure which tabloid had started the rumor that he and Diana were romantically involved, but it was a non-story that refused to die. To his silent relief, Lois had laughed it off and now had a terrible tendency to tease him with suggestions about where 'Superman' might take his 'Wonderful girlfriend', each more outlandish than the previous.

"There was a third one that I dumped in the bay," he said, ignoring Sawyer's innuendo. She nodded.

"Already have Port Authority pulling him out." She paused, tilted her head to listen to her earpiece. Clark glanced away and pretended he could not hear every word. "Sounds like the vultures are descending," Sawyer said a moment later, the words causing an instinctive flash of anger inside Clark's chest. He knew that a lot of people did not like journalists, but it never failed to hit him anew _just _how much they were disliked by certain members of society, soldiers and police officers especially. "Fire department has everything under control. If you want to dodge more questions, now would be a good time to bolt."

"Thank you, Captain." Clark rose quickly into the sky, knowing his departure would be noted and emulated by Diana. Somehow, whenever they worked together, she remained absolutely aware of his location and activities, even if her back was turned. As he suspected, she shook the hand of the firefighter – a woman, Clark noticed with a smile he quickly forced back – and then leaped into the sky. Within moments, they both floated high above Metropolis, hidden mostly by cloud cover.

"They weren't human," Clark said shortly. Diana nodded.

"Nor were they minions of Ares." She gave him a look. "Our Gotham friend should know this." It was perfectly said – even here, hundreds of feet away from the nearest human who might be able to overhear their words, she knew to take care with Bruce's identity. Clark snorted.

"Do you think he doesn't already know?" They shared a laugh. "I'll check with him before I head home."

"Good." Diana grinned. "Do not forget our race," she said as she accelerated away from Metropolis. Clark smiled before throwing himself in the opposite direction.

/-\

Five days later, Diana stood silently in the cramped Clocktower base and watched Bruce try to pretend he was not horribly uncomfortable with the presence of four metahumans in his city.

Oh, he pretended very well that none of them concerned him, but she had grown quite skilled in perceiving truth where only lies reigned in the many months since becoming Themyscira's champion. She remained unsure if it was due to the Lariat or some other ability gifted to her by the Gods, but she found it useful nonetheless. Useful yet troublesome at the same time. When Steve told her he was not troubled by the foolish and inaccurate gossip spread by the tabloids about her so-called romance with Kal, for example, she knew he lied to save face, but by Aphrodite, she knew not what to do about it. She knew much of Steve's difficulties stemmed from his professional job – officially, he was her liaison with the American government and was tasked with ensuring her planned Themysciran embassy favored them, which was something she could not and would not do, and that caused a great deal of pressure upon his shoulders – but personally, they had so few things in common that it was difficult to simply be one another when they were together. Compared to her, he was fragile – had she tried, Diana knew she could easily break him were she not overly cautious – so naturally, he sought to pretend otherwise, which inevitably lead to more conflict. So many of the cultural things he took for granted she did not understand and the inverse was also true. She knew he was frustrated – Hera help her, _she _was frustrated too! – but what to do? Diana shoved the thoughts aside. It was a matter for a later reflection as at the moment, as her attention needed to be on the here and now.

"Listen," the Green Lantern – Hal Jordan, she knew, both from Clark's use of the man's name and Steve's immediate recognition of his former wingman when Lantern was first interviewed; his amusement had been quite vocal, especially when Lantern identified himself as a member of an interplanetary law enforcement organization – said hotly, "I already told you what I know, Bats!" Under the partial face-concealing mask, he glowered at the dark figure staring back at him. "These things don't conform to anything in the Guardians' database!"

"That tracks with the A.I. at the Fortress," Kal interjected. He intentionally stood between the two men, his manner very obviously intended to be calming. "I spent a couple of hours reviewing the database and, at best, the A.I. thinks they might be extradimensional."

"Wait." Jordan shifted his attention from Bruce to Kal. "You have an actual, functioning Kryptonian database? You didn't mention that."

"It never came up," Kal replied calmly.

"The Guardians will want it," Jordan declared.

Kal stiffened.

From where she reclined against the wall, Diana tensed as well. In the year since she had met Kal, never before had she seen him in this light. At Jordan's careless, foolish words, the relaxed, confident and friendly man she'd met was instantly transformed into a dangerous, unyielding being of incalculable power who encapsulated everything her mother feared. He stared at the Green Lantern, not moving or blinking, and everyone present was suddenly aware of an intense heat in the room.

"If they want it," Kal-El, the last son of Krypton, said softly, "they are welcome to try and take it." He crossed his arms, at once reminding Jordan how large he was. "That information is too dangerous, for anyone."

"Even you?" Lantern challenged.

"Especially me," Kal replied. "I acknowledge that your Guardians want to keep this data out of the wrong hands," he continued in that chilling, nearly emotionless voice, "but as the last Kryptonian, I neither recognize nor accept their authority in this."

"All right, let's calm down a little bit here." Barry Allen suddenly stood between the two men, the mask he normally wore to conceal his identity pushed back. "Let's focus on the matter at hand," he said quickly, the words rushing out of his mouth so quickly it was difficult to understand what he said. "These demon things … how did they get to Earth?"

"They didn't breach the atmosphere," Jordan said. He held up his hand and the ring flashed brightly. Instantly, an image of the world appeared, tinged in a glowing green light. "I've got some markers in place that will alert me every time something man-sized or larger enters or leaves the atmosphere."

"Good to know," Bruce murmured from his shadow.

"And man," Lantern continued, flicking a frown at Kal, "I get pings all the time because of you. Is there a reason you have to do that all the time?"

"I can fly," Kal replied, relaxing slightly and once more becoming the man Diana considered her friend. "Tell me you don't do the same ever since you got that ring." Jordan snorted, his lips curling up slightly.

"Fair enough," he said with an understanding nod. From where she leaned, Diana had to agree as well. As a child, she'd driven her mother quite mad with her tendency to see how high she could go or how far over the ocean. Once, she'd gotten so lost, it had taken her almost a week to find her way back home and Hippolyta had been quite unable to decide if she was furious or too relieved to punish her.

"Hmmm." Barry studied the green image for a moment. "Do we know where these things have appeared?"

"Yes." Bruce shifted slightly in his corner and another image of the globe materialized, this one bathed in white light and projected from something hidden in the ceiling. Lantern shook his head – Diana did the same – and allowed his own projection to vanish. "Each sighting I am aware of places them along coastal cities." Several pulsing lights of slightly different color appeared on the slowly rotating globe.

"You missed Jacksonville," Lantern said. "I showed up right after that fish guy, Aquadude, had smacked them around and turned them over to the base police." Bruce grunted and did something that added a new icon over the curiously-shaped protrusion near the southern part of the United States.

"They call him Aqua_man_, actually," Kal offered. He glanced briefly in Diana's direction and she shot him a frown. People _still _called her by that ridiculous Wonder Woman name he had coined while writing for his Daily Planet. She wondered if the Atlantean king's media name was his creation as well.

"We should consult him," Bruce said. "He might have additional information we lack." Diana pushed herself off the wall.

"I will make contact with him," she declared. "Atlantis is known to Themyscira." She did not bother mentioning that they nearly went to war over a misunderstanding three hundred years ago. Doing so was not relevant – the two nations had better than average relations, and Atlantis had not stupidly sent a male ambassador for the last three centuries.

She was lost in thought and mostly silent for the rest of the meeting, departing quickly once it was concluded and before one of the frustrating males – likely Kal, as he seemed far more attuned to her moods than Bruce – could corner her and inquire about her health. Right now, she just wanted to hit something.

And later, after another brief, tense conversation with Steve that ended in yet another senseless argument, the desire for uncomplicated violence intensified. It was fortunate that Circe chose that moment to stir up trouble as it gave Diana something to do or rather, someone to hit.

Hera help her, Men were stupid.

/-\

Dinner was lovely, but Clark was too distracted by recent events to give it his full attention.

Lois seemed not to mind as she split her attention between eating and reviewing her notes from the day's interviews with the G20 delegates. For her, the day had evidently quite been busy, though not as productive as she would have desired. As was his tendency with her, ever since she'd asked some rather pointed and difficult questions he'd been unwilling to answer or even acknowledge, the US president went out of his way to avoid her, which should have angered her but instead always made her laugh. Clark had to admit he was fairly envious about that element of her personality – unlike so many other members of her profession, Lois was able to set aside personal beliefs and treated all politicians the same, regardless of whether or not she happened to agree with them. As far as she was concerned, they were all bottom-feeding scum wearing pretty suits, regardless of their party affiliation.

Needless to say, she was almost universally loathed in Washington, D.C., a fact she claimed to take great pride in.

It had been a spur of the moment decision on Clark's part to fly here to Ankara for a late night dinner, but now, as they sat in uncomfortable silence, he had to wonder if he shouldn't have just retired to the Fortress for the night instead. His head pounded – the noise of the planet was getting to him again – and his growing frustration at the lack of action on the part of the world governments was beginning to turn into actual anger. What was it going to take to make them listen? God, he just wanted to punch something.

"You've been rather quiet," Lois remarked suddenly, her comments breaking his train of thought. Clark looked up and found her studying him, tapping her lips with the overly expensive pen he'd bought her a few months ago, with an expression one he recognized all too well. She was about to ask him some difficult questions. He sighed.

"Thinking about some stuff," he replied. She nodded.

"I don't think you could have given me a better lead-in," Lois said with a slight smile. "Rumor has it that you and your … super-friends are recruiting." Clark grunted and her smile deepened. "Any truth to that?"

"Off the record?" She rolled her eyes but nodded. "Then, yes." He fought the urge to lean back in his chair – these things weren't sturdy enough for a regular human, let alone one with the bone and muscle density of a Kryptonian. "We're trying to make some plans in the event of another extra-terrestrial incursion." He frowned. "So far," he continued with a scowl, "none of the people in high office seem to have taken my warnings very seriously."

"About Brainiac?" Lois picked at the remains of her kofta – she had seemed to like it well enough, but, like most women Clark knew, didn't eat enough of it.

"In the last month, there have been nineteen extra-terrestrial incursions," Clark said. "I've reported them to every government agency I can think of as soon as I become aware of them, but still, nobody does a damned thing about it." He pushed his empty plate away. "Instead, they sink money into crap like Cadmus because they're afraid I'm going to snap and start killing people." The continued lack of trust in some quarters still stung.

_"People are afraid of what they don't understand, Clark." _His dad's words echoed in his years, even now, twenty years later.

"That's because Luthor still has a lot ears," Lois pointed out. She blew out a frustrated breath. "I was _this_ close to nailing him with that clone fiasco," she grumbled, holding her finger barely an inch from her thumb. Clark held his tongue – he didn't want to mention that Bruce had admitted to doing some digging himself and had a few plans he wanted to put into play. As the usual target of Luthor's vitriol, Clark was all for that. "So what _is_ your plan?" Lois asked after a few moments. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table and cradling her chin as she looked at him. "Organize the metahumans into an army? That'll only make the governments more afraid."

"Not an army," Clark replied. "But a team, definitely. We're all stronger together than we are apart." He met her eyes. "But these incursions … I'm afraid a lot of people are going to die before the idiots in charge do anything."

Lois smirked – from the glint in her eyes, Clark knew she was about to make some biting comment, likely about the collective intelligence of the people running the government or how history had a terrible tendency to repeat itself because people were stupid – but her phone began buzzing. She frowned at it and Clark understood why: he recalled quite clearly her turning it off when he knocked on her hotel room window. Picking up the phone, Lois blinked in surprise before pushing it toward him.

"It's for you," she said. Clark hesitated only for a moment before glancing at the screen.

He was out of Lois' hotel room and climbing into the sky less than a second later.

/-\

Steve was the last person that Diana expected to encounter in Metropolis.

He was not wearing his uniform for a change, and did not recognize her at first, which was entirely the point of the enchanted spectacles she wore, twins to the ones that she had presented to Kal as a gift. Though she was loath to admit it to him, she had quickly realized a sense of envy over how easily her Kryptonian friend could vanish within the multitude of humanity and walk freely among them, which led her to seeking Hephaestus' aid. The Lame God had been fascinated by her request – in all his centuries, he had never encountered a supplicant seeking to make themselves appear more normal and he crafted the twin devices mostly out of curiosity than any other emotion. To her surprise, he'd refused payment, instead making a simple statement about enjoying the work, especially since it was not weapons.

When Diana joined Steve at the outdoor restaurant table, he frowned, opened his mouth and then visibly hesitated. A heartbeat later, recognition flashed across his face.

"Diana?" he asked hesitantly. She smiled and nodded. "I didn't recognize you." Chuckling, she tapped the spectacles with one finger and he rolled his eyes. "Stinking magic," he muttered, which only increased her amusement. Both Kal and Bruce had said much the same thing at various times since she met them. She remained unsure whether it was because of their unfamiliarity with the Art or if was simply a masculine reaction to something they did not understand.

"Why are you in Metropolis?" she asked. Instantly, Steve's good humor vanished.

"I could ask you the same thing," he replied. "This is _his _city, isn't it?" The flash of anger that coursed through her must have shown on her face because Steve held up a hand. "No, I'm sorry. That … I shouldn't have said that. I'm just being an idiot right now." He drained the beverage in his hand – from the smell, it was one of those weak American beers she detested so much – and gestured to the waitress for a refill. "DoMA sent me here to look into those … things you and … Superman smacked around last week."

"I was not aware you were working for Director Waller," Diana replied. She smiled at the waitress who delivered Steve's drink and quickly ordered a white wine. Steve waited until the girl was gone before replying.

"That makes two of us," he said. "Waller evidently pulled some strings and now, I'm on detached duty with her department." He narrowed his eyes slightly. "So why are _you_ here?" he asked.

Diana opened her mouth to answer the question – her reason for being in Metropolis was much the same as his; Bruce had asked if she would check something for him and Kal was evidently unavailable – but a sudden series of massive _booms _echoed through the air. Almost immediately, sirens began howling and the citizens of Metropolis reacted accordingly. Most scrambled out of the streets and sidewalks, scurrying toward the buildings that all bore a distinctive sigil painted upon their doors. Once, after she had assisted him against a foolish idiot who used toys to wreak havoc, Kal had glumly admitted the symbol Metropolis now used to denote the location of emergency shelters was originally the Kryptonian seal for the House of Zod. It had been an ancient and honored House, one noted for loyalty, fidelity, honor, and selflessness. And now, because of the actions of one madman, it would forever be remembered as a symbol of terror and death.

At the moment, though, those thoughts barely crossed her mind as she sprang up from her seat and hurled herself into the air. Behind her, Steve shouted out her name, but Diana did not look back. Instead, she clashed her two bracers together, triggering the transformational magics within. With a flash, her civilian attire vanished, leaving her in the battle armor she was more comfortable in. Pushing for more acceleration, she cast around for the origin of the explosions.

She found it immediately. Dozens of shimmering ... tubes hung in the air, and through these portals a vast host of creatures poured forth. Diana recognized the creatures instantly, though these bore wings that held them aloft unlike the ones she and Kal had defeated earlier. The creatures roared and screeched, blasting away indiscriminately with their weapons. At first, their onslaught seemed to be slaughter without purpose, but Diana instinctively recognized that it was not – they were establishing a beachhead, an area under their control to serve as a base.

This would not do.

She struck the first of the creatures in less than a second, her _xiphos _flashing out and severing its weapon arm. Even as it shrieked in sudden agony, she was already striking again, kicking it hard into the chest and sending it spinning into a tight formation of the things. It slammed into its allies with an immense _crack _of splintering bone and armor, and Diana was among them before they fully realized they were under attack. Her sword dipping and stabbing, her translucent shield sparking against their counter-strikes, she forced them back.

A blur of crimson flashed across the city streets and wherever it went, panicked civilians simply vanished. Barry. It could only be him. Diana smiled tightly as she batted away one of the demon's fierce blows, ducking underneath a second and bringing her knee up into its jaw. Black blood erupted forth and teeth shattered from the impact.

Her foes temporarily fallen, she cast around for the next group and was unsurprised to see Barry still flickering in and out of sight. A blast of emerald light heralded the Green Lantern and Jordan swept into sight, accompanied by a quartet of glowing aircraft summoned by his magic ring. One of the jets splintered into fragments that almost instantly coalesced into dozens if not hundreds of missiles that promptly rained down upon a grounded formation of the demons with fierce but surprisingly contained explosions. As if that was not awe-inspiring enough, a black-clad shape plunged toward the ground from the disintegrating aircraft and then, with a sudden motion, Bruce's cape flared out and stiffened. He soared downward.

"Citizens of Earth," a dark and terrible voice boomed, seemingly coming from everywhere. "I am Darkseid and I claim this world as mine."

Locating the source of the voice was not difficult. He stood atop a floating war-barge, his arms clasped together at the small of his back. A veritable giant, his face was cruel and sinister, with eyes that burned and skin that looked to have been chiseled from rock. Heavy armor protected him and he studied the destruction with a cold indifference that fired Diana's blood.

She was airborne and en route toward him almost before he was finished speaking.

Diana arrowed through the formations, weaving around their energy blasts with speed and grace none of them displayed. She was vaguely aware of Jordan blasting away around her – hammers of solid light smashed aside entire companies, clearing her path – and the crimson streak that had to be Barry continued to appear and disappear in disorienting flickers, but her focus remained on the gray-skinned giant. He half-turned at her approach, his eyes narrowing, and, even at this distance, she heard his dark growl.

"Olympian."

Light flashed from his eyes, crashing into her upraised shield with the sound of thunder. The heat was immense, boiling the very air around her, and only Hephaestus' gift prevented her skin from bursting into flame. She heard screams – they were from the flying demons closest to her as they combusted – but rolled into mid-air, twisting up and around the war-barge. It should have been enough as the maneuver broke the giant's line of sight, but the energy blast only seemed to intensify. Under the impossible heat, Hephaestus' shield splintered and cracked.

And Diana screamed.

/-\

Clark could hear everything.

The booms of the extra-dimensional transport tubes, the screams of panicking civilians, the sounds of flesh cooking under the energy weapons, even the announcement of the would-be invader that he had come to conquer, he heard it all. The radio transmissions of the emergency services were loud enough for him to recognize individual voices and the hurried reporting from Cat Grant, the helicopter anchor for WGBS On The Spot News who everyone in Metropolis watched because of the skimpy outfits she wore echoed loudly in his ears.

But above all, he heard Diana scream.

And it enraged him.

He curved down toward Metropolis, pouring on more speed than he'd ever tried for, and the very air around him trembled as he tore through the sky. His cape was gone, lost somewhere over Europe in his hard push for acceleration, but the loss of it never entered his mind as he arrowed toward the thing that called itself Darkseid. Too late, the giant reacted to his approach and started to turn.

The impact was devastating. A shockwave of sheer concussive force exploded outward, shattering windows and other breakables in all directions for hundreds of feet. Raw kinetic energy smashed the floating platform into ground, tearing into a hundred different pieces and sending dozens of the demon things to the ground where they ripped great gouts of concrete free. Darkseid himself cratered in the street, his impact causing the ground throughout Metropolis to tremble. He roared, though if it was in anger or pain Clark couldn't tell. Eyes burning, the giant sprang up and into the air.

And a giant, glowing green baseball bat came out of nowhere and smashed into him, sending him flashing upward.

"And the crowd goes wild!" Jordan exulted, and Clark could hear the same kind of reaction from observers everywhere, but he blurred forward, throwing himself into the air after the spinning giant. _Contain the incident_, he told himself. This … Darkseid's current trajectory would carry him into another section of the city that was simply unprepared for it and Clark could not allow that. He hit Darkseid from an oblique angle, stiff-arming him away from the city and toward the open bay.

"Kryptonian!" the gray-skinned monster snarled in the half-second before they struck the water and it almost sounded surprised.

At the last instant, Clark tried to alter his own trajectory, to avoid the water, but Darkseid lashed out with a frighteningly fast blow that smashed into Clark's face with enough force to crush the hull of a battleship. Staggered and off-balance, Clark reeled away and skipped across the surface of Metropolis Bay. Shaking his head, he _pushed _against gravity and slowed his uncontrolled spin. Rising up, he found the gray-skinned monster standing a half foot above the waves.

"A Kryptonian bearing the sigil of the House of El," the giant rumbled, his voice like grating stones. "You are not Jor-El," he added with a frown, "but you have his bearing."

"I'm his son," Clark replied tightly. He floated closer, intentionally slipping sideways as he did. "And this world is off limits to you."

"How do possess such power?" the giant demanded, his eyes almost instantly shifting heavenward toward the sun. "Ah. Curious. A Kryptonian under a yellow sun." He gestured with one hand. "Come then, son of Jor-El. Let us see how capable you truly are."

/-\

He found her half-buried under the remnants of a building.

Cursing under his breath, Bruce struggled to shift the large slabs of shattered concrete that pinned Diana to the ground. She was still unconscious, with her golden armor now blackened and smoking, but as far as he could tell, she was still alive. Glancing around at the unmoving and barely recognizable corpses of the things that Darkseid had destroyed in his effort to stop her, Bruce shook his head.

He abandoned the efforts to shift the debris – there had to be several tons here, and he was only human – and leaned back and surveyed the situation. The military had already arrived to augment the Metropolis police department, which was more than a little interesting. He had a very good idea about the response time for most American special forces units and this _far_ exceeded their abilities … unless they, like him, had expected the strike. He frowned. Clearly, at least someone in the government had listened to Clark's warnings after all. Further investigation would be necessary later, when the situation was contained and the innocents were no longer in danger.

"Flash, this is Batman," he said into the headset microphone integrated into his cowl. "I need smelling salts from a first aid kit-"

"Here you go," Allen said. It was unnerving – he was there one second, and the next, he was gone, leaving behind only the trauma bag Bruce recognized as belonging to a paramedic. Shaking his head, he dug through the pack, found what he was looking for, and popped it underneath Diana's nose.

She woke instantly and with a gasp, shoving aside the tons of broken concrete with barely a second glance or even a hint of strain. Shaking her head, she looked around.

"Hera," she growled, "that hurt."

"Are you all right?" Bruce asked as he rose fluidly to his feet, grimacing only slightly at the sight of Diana casually brushing aside even more slabs of masonry that he would not be able to budge without heavy construction equipment. She nodded.

"Yes, I think I am," she replied with a frown at the darkened nature of her armor. Even her bracers, once the brightest of silver, appeared clouded and murky. Glancing up, she scanned their immediate surroundings and her frown deepened. "Is that thunder or artillery?" she asked.

"Neither," Bruce replied. "Superman has engaged Darkseid. He's keeping him contained." Scowling, Bruce tapped out a quick command on the integrated wrist computer and winced at the aerial footage of the fight. Somehow, Kent had managed to push the gray-skinned thing to the currently abandoned Stryker's Island Penitentiary – the two were systematically leveling the old prison facility, but the engagement threatened to spill back into the city proper at any moment.

"We need to aid him!" Diana said sharply. She tensed, clearly on the verge of hurling herself into the air, but Bruce grabbed her arm.

"What we _need_ is a plan," he said sharply. "Flash, Lantern, Aquaman, rally point alpha. Diana-"

His next words were lost as she grabbed his outstretched arm and carried them both into the sky. Bruce bit back the urge to snarl a curse and pushed back a wild sense of vertigo as they darted toward the spot he'd pre-designated as rally point alpha earlier this week when he'd identified Metropolis as the most likely target for an actual invasion. It was not as if he were unaccustomed to great heights – in Gotham, he probably spent more time hanging between buildings than he did on the ground – but normally, he had more control over the situation.

The headset concealed within his cowl confirmed his earlier suspicions: Diana's associate – Bruce still wasn't sure whether the man should be classified as friend, lover, or something else entirely, and it seemed improper to ask – Colonel Trevor, was directing a counter-offensive against the invaders and it sounded like he had more assets at his disposal than Bruce had expected. By the sound of things, they had cordoned off the entire district and were bringing down anything not human with copious amounts of firepower. Good. That made things easier.

"Diana," he said the instant they touched down. Lantern and Flash were already there, and Bruce could see Aquaman – what a ridiculous name, he thought – in Metropolis Bay, engaged against a quartet of the invaders that were trying to reinforce their master. "Go in hard and fast," Bruce instructed. "Hit him and keep hitting him."

"Kal, I'm coming in from the west," she murmured as she shot up into the sky.

"Lantern, we need the island contained," Bruce continued. "Nothing gets in, nothing gets out without our say so."

"On it." Jordan streaked up, angling away from Diana's approach and glowing brightly against the skyline. Silently, Bruce nodded his approval – by drawing so much attention, Lantern would give cover to Diana's approach … if that was actually Jordan's intention and he wasn't just showboating for a change. Bruce pushed the thought aside and focused on the mission once more.

"Continue your evac operations," he told Flash, "but stand ready to assist at a moment's notice." Allen didn't respond, even with a nod, and simply vanished. The air around where he had stood a heartbeat earlier popped at the sudden displacement, but Bruce ignored it and refocused on the battle. His cowl had built-in magnification, which he quickly triggered just in time to see Diana strike.

She came in low and fast, first hugging the water and then, the ground. Kent and this Darkseid were wholly focused on one another, blasting away with their respective eye beams or striking at each other with punches that could shatter steel, but at the last moment, Clark blurred to one side, the action causing his opponent to instinctively shift in defense … which left him wide open to Diana's attack. She led with the short-bladed sword that Bruce had seen cut through military-grade battle armor like a laser went through warm butter, and the blade flashed upward, clearly intent on taking the creature's head. Darkseid recoiled in surprise at her unexpected appearance and it was almost enough to prevent Diana's strike from connecting.

Almost.

Even at this distance, Bruce felt the roar of mingled rage and pain from the gray-skinned giant as the Olympian-tempered blade slice through his flesh and into his left eye. There was a sudden flash – crimson light, brighter than any explosion that Bruce had witnessed, and Diana was suddenly tumbling. She smashed through concrete walls but righted herself almost instantly and threw herself back at her enemy, discarding what looked to be the shattered remnants of her sword. A blue blur flowed forward – Kent – and the two resumed the attack.

A boom echoed overhead and Bruce instinctively huddled deeper in the spot he'd chosen to act as a command and control asset. Glancing up, he glared at the sudden appearance of another of these trans-dimensional tubes, but promptly ignored the things spilling out as the troops under Colonel Trevor's command unleashed a murderous barrage of fire at them. It took long seconds for him to relocate the fight – he frowned slightly when he realized that Aquaman had joined Clark and Diana; that wasn't part of the plan – and keeping them in sight was difficult. More of the portals boomed open …

And quite suddenly Bruce saw something he had not noticed before.

There, on Darkseid's belt, hidden underneath some sort of protective, armored sheath, was a rectangular object that flashed and pulsed, and each time it did so, another of the trans-dimensional tubes opened. Flicker, boom. Flicker, boom. Flicker, boom. Yes, they were definitely linked in some way. Correlation did not imply causation, but right now, they were out of options. At any minute, the fight could spill off the island and into the city…

"Flash," he said into his comlink. Allen suddenly appeared next to him and Bruce tried very hard not to jump. No wonder Gordon hated it when he did that. "Darkseid has a device on his belt that's flashing," he began, reaching for the door breaching explosives secured to his belt. His intent was simple – blow it up and see what happened – but Allen seemed to shimmer slightly and then was suddenly holding the flashing device.

"Huh," he said as he turned it over in one hand. "It calls itself a Mother Box and I don't think it likes me very much." Bruce flinched away from it automatically, halfway expecting it to explode in their faces. When nothing happened, he glanced skyward. No more of the portals were opening. He looked back at Stryker's but the massive glowing green dome that now encircled the entire island prevented him from locating any of the combatants. They were still going at it, though; the Earth continued to tremble and shake. They were out of time. Hesitantly, he reached for the device.

Comprehension and understanding flooded his awareness at once. In the span of a single second, he saw alien vistas that defied belief, non-human intelligences that were both malign and benevolent, entities that were neither intelligent in the traditional sense nor unthinking by any stretch of the word. He saw vast empires that spanned entire galaxies rise and fall, and wars between hostile species that obliterated entire solar systems. Time ran backwards and forwards, and, in a single picosecond, Bruce Wayne looked upon the face of creation.

He was forever changed.

"All right," he said an eternity later. Allen was still standing there, looking at him, hand outstretched from where he had offered the device, and from the look in his eyes, Bruce knew that he had experienced the same thing. It didn't matter. There was still a god to stop and a world to save. "This is the plan."

/-\

From where he floated, high above Stryker's Island, Hal Jordan could see everything.

Military jets and Army helicopters roared over Metropolis proper, meeting and throwing back the attackers with a fierceness that indicated long preparation and special training. There were casualties, of course, but that couldn't be prevented, not in an actual pitched battle like this with an enemy wholly intent on victory, but the sheer aggressiveness of the defenders caught the extra-dimensional aliens by surprise. As former military himself, he couldn't help but to be impressed.

Still, the cynic in him couldn't help but to wonder how much of this response had originally been meant for Superman.

The muscles in his right arm were beginning to tremble with the effort necessary to maintain the containment field under the force of the blows happening within. For all of his joking and good-natured mocking of the three humans within – well … the three non-gray stone giants from a different dimension since Superman was Kryptonian, Aquafresh was a fish-man who claimed to be from Atlantis, and Diana was a super-model with an emphasis on super from an island full of immortal Greek legends; he wasn't sure if any of the three really classified as _human_, even if they were fighting to protect the planet – he had to admit, they hit _hard. _The shockwaves alone from the blows they dished out smashed his barrier like runaway trains that inexplicably kept crashing. Once, barely a month after he'd gotten the ring, he'd used it to contain the explosion from a hijacked cruise missile, but that had been nothing compared to this.

And that didn't even include the gray giant punk who hit even harder.

Just as bad were the dozens of the invaders who kept throwing themselves at the emerald barrier or discharged those high intensity plasma beams at it in an attempt to cut through. A smaller number of them launched attacks at Hal himself, surging up with those anti-grav wings, and he had to split his concentration ever so slightly to swat them out of the sky. He'd even reached an unspoken arrangement with one of the Army attack helicopters and redirected hostiles directly into their line of fire; that particular Apache even returned the favor once or twice by dropping a couple of the invaders trying to sneak up on Hal when he was distracted by other attempts to breach the shield, or by the brawl between the four living gods he currently had sealed up on the island, or by the overpowering urge to just go home and take a nap.

Thanks to the ring, he maintained perfect awareness of what was happening within the giant bottle – Supes was nearly a constant blur of motion, his fists flashing forward so quickly it was impossible for Hal to see when one punch ended and the next began, but each one of them rattled the ground when they struck; at the same time, Aquafresh and the Queen of Hotness alternated their own attacks, ducking and weaving and lashing out with their trident and lasso respectively – but Stone Guy just refused to go down. Black blood leaked out of the ruin of his left eye, smoking and hissing as it fell to the dirt, but he dished out as much as he took. His counterblows rocked Supes back, the impacts sounding like thunder, and striking with speed unexpected for someone his size, he caught hold of Aquafresh's trident with one hand before hitting him with a brutal left cross. The blond man was sent spinning away, barely conscious.

Without conscious thought, Hal reacted. Tendrils of solid green light darted forward from the lip of the emerald barrier and enveloped the staggered Aquaman, abruptly arresting his fall and redirecting him toward the bay. Hal released the man as soon as he felt him start to revive under the water and refocused on maintaining the containment field. He didn't know how much he had left, not when these damned powerhouses kept trying to knock the damned planet out of orbit.

"Lantern," the Bat's voice echoed in his ear, "stand ready to let Flash through."

"Copy," Hal hissed through clenched teeth. Another squadron of the stupid demon things were attacking the barrier, this time from the north.

_"Power levels at thirty percent capacity, Ring-bearer Jordan," _a disembodied voice informed him, though he knew only he could hear it.

"Can you take out the guys on the north side when you approach, Flash?" Hal asked. He was suddenly aware of Supes and Wondy tag-teaming Red-Eyes … and the bastard was holding his own.

"Make a hole … now." Barry's voice was, as usual, calm, laconic, almost bored-sounding, but Hal had worked a few cases with him and obeyed without giving it much thought. A man-sized hole appeared in the barrier – on the north-side, of course – and Hal let it remain for a fast count of exactly one before sealing it back up. The ring updated him instantly – all seven of the demon things on the north side were down, their anti-grav backpacks inexplicably missing, and a biological entity may or may not have passed through the hole at a prodigious rate of speed. Hal grinned. Fastest man alive, indeed.

"Must suck for your girlfriend, though," he murmured, too softly for anyone else to hear.

"Lantern, stand by to reduce containment to Superman and Wonder Woman only." The Bat still sounded as imperious as ever. If nothing else, the man had balls for a dude who dressed up like a flying mouse. "Now!"

Hal obeyed instantly – his barrier splintered and shrunk, suddenly enveloping Supes and Wonder Babe, much to their surprise and Red-Eyes'. A heartbeat later, something on the giant's belt suddenly exploded – it wasn't a small detonation either, but rather something significant enough to actually stagger the monster. His hand darted to where the explosion had originated…

And in that instant, with a titanic _boom_, another of the trans-dimensional portals opened up right behind him.

Wind wailed with hurricane force, sucking the shattered remnants of the prison toward the vortex. Hal cried out in surprise at the unexpected tug of gravity trying to drag Supes and Wondy into the gaping hole. He strained against it – this was worse than that stupid black hole test Kilowog had put him through. He felt rather than saw Superman begin taking slow, ponderous steps toward where the princess had already driven her hands into the ground. Hal groaned with relief as he merged their respective bubbles but still … _still _… the pull…

Darkseid stood firm, unmoving, unyielding … unimpressed.

"All units, this is Batman." Hal was only barely aware of the voice across his headset as he strained to pull away from the vortex. "Orient on Stryker's Island and fire. Broken Arrow."

"This is Sentinel Six Actual." Now _that _voice, Jordan knew well … but what the hell was Zipper doing in Metropolis? "Confirm Broken Arrow. Bring the rain, boys and girls."

The sky over Metropolis lit up and Hal was suddenly aware of hundreds of missiles screaming toward him. His groan of effort turned into a shout as the ordinance streaked by him, their own acceleration only intensified a hundred-fold by the implacable tug from the swirling hold in the sky. The stone giant was suddenly wreathed in dozens of explosions, some small, some not, but all slamming into him with a cumulative effect. He staggered back an unexpected step…

Superman hit him a heartbeat later.

Hal wasn't sure when the Kryptonian had battered through the protective globe, but he pounced, eyes flashing and burning. With punches that echoed so loudly they could be heard across the state, Supes pushed the battered, one-eyed giant back to the very lip of the event horizon. Hal's eyes darted down to the princess – as if sensing his look, she glanced up to him and nodded, one hand still anchoring her to the ground against the wail of wind – and Jordan drew in a deep breath.

And then, he hit Darkseid with absolutely everything the ring had.

There was no subtlety to it, no cute manipulation of the light to form a battering ram or his favorite projection, a F-22 Raptor being piloted by dozens of mini velociraptors. This time, it was nothing more than a column of solid light and power, driven by his indomitable will and enhanced by his barely contained rage. It smashed into the giant at exactly the same instant Superman's latest punch impacted and the twin blows struck with more kinetic energy than every single nuclear weapon on the planet. Caught unprepared by the dual attacks, Darkseid tumbled back through the vortex, vanishing at once. Superman half-turned, suddenly seeming to slump with exhaustion. He started to fall forward…

But a golden lariat, hurled by the most beautiful woman Hal had ever met, wrapped around the Kryptonian's chest and pulled him back from the brink.

Mere seconds later, the extra-dimensional portal sealed shut with another earth-shuddering _boom_. It was over. The Battle of Metropolis – the _Second _Battle of Metropolis, Hal correct himself – was over.

/-\

It took nearly a month for the fear of a second invasion by Darkseid to die down.

In the interim, the threat level for all major powers was elevated to their highest readiness point, and, to his surprise, Clark found himself summoned to the United Nations for a debriefing about what his 'Justice League' was going to do to prevent another incursion. The name was something of a surprise – he would later discover that Lois had coined it in her earliest reports about how the G20 Summit responded to the televised attack on Metropolis – but he liked it well enough to keep it. Naturally, there was a small group of vocal opponents of the League, though they transcended political leanings. Those on the far right were convinced the League was the first step toward forcing a single world government, while those on the equally extreme left clamored for that very thing and then accused them of being inhuman tyrants and overlords who did not care enough for humanity when they didn't. Clark didn't have any proof, but he was certain that Luthor was bankrolling both sides of the extremist argument.

Diana was invaluable during the UN meetings thanks to her upbringing, and Aquaman – Arthur – was equally competent, so Clark let the two of them handle the delicate negotiations necessary to give the League something resembling official recognition. Certain nations complained – the more conservative Islamic countries refused to vote in favor of the resolution because Diana did not dress in a manner they found appropriate, and Russia balked at the last minute for reasons of statecraft that Clark didn't actually understand – but in the end, the League was officially recognized as equivalent to a General Assembly observer akin to the Red Cross.

"Useless," Bruce had muttered later, even though Clark thought it was a positive step forward. Diana agreed with him – while at the UN, she'd started the ball rolling to have Themyscira recognized in the same way – but Wayne remained unmoved. "The UN is a toothless waste of time," he'd said sharply. "Expect them to try and suck us into their bureaucratic black hole." He'd smiled then, that creepy grin that never looked quite right on his face. "We should have gone to the G20 instead."

"I think we're on the right track," Clark mentioned to Diana later. They were floating above Metropolis, having just departed a dinner thrown in the League's honor by the mayor. Clark had nearly refused the invitation – he was afraid it was a politician's gambit to get headlines for a hotly contested upcoming election – but Diana had accepted. None of the others were able to attend – Bruce snorted in disgust, Barry claimed a previous engagement, Arthur said he had plans with someone named Mera, and Hal was off-world at the moment – and his and Diana's attendance together would probably set off another round of tabloid rumors, but the dinner actually turned out to be useful. Both New York senators were present, along with the governor and only one of the Representatives had to cancel, and all of them seemed at eager to work with the League in some fashion. Finally, Clark truly felt like he was living up to his father's – both of them – dream. Finally, he was becoming the symbol of hope.

"Yes," Diana said. "I think we are."

And then, naturally, Hal had to return from Oa with the information he'd learned about Darkseid from the Guardians, information they had been loath to provide. There was no way this was over. Not yet.

Darkseid would be back.

* * *

**A/N #2: **So, yeah. I did some judicious picking and choosing.

+ Utilized the New 52 idea of Darkseid being the big bad for the first actual JL villain. Didn't incorporate all of it - e.g., Cyborg - because I wanted to be different, but I did like the idea of them not all getting along.

+ As you might infer, Darkseid is not _known _to exist in this version of the DCU, although it's clear the Guardians know who he is. I figure he's the equivalent of the devil in terms of galactic lore - people may have heard of him, but they don't really believe in him. And then, when an entire planet is mysteriously obliterated, the whispers begin again. The fact he directly assaulted Earth will factor into some other aspects of GLCorps actions down the road.

+ As before, I wanted to have the non-metas play a more significant part in this mess than just running around and screaming. While it works in the comics since you've got a limited number of pages, I've always thought it was a little silly that the various governments don't take a more active role (apart from the usual hindering bureaucracy the Hero has to wade through.)

+ Again, a reminder is in order that in my DCU, Metropolis (using the general maps from DCOnline) completely replaces New York, and Gotham does the same to Chicago. Which probably means Central City will replaced Kansas City and Coast City is ... hmm ... San Diego? That or LA.


	4. Year Four: Fractures

**Year Four: Fractures**

**Author's Note: **I'll be honest. I hate this chapter. It's necessary for a couple of reasons, but a half-dozen rewrites haven't made it any better for me. That said, I'm always my own worst critic so...

* * *

**WayneTech Announces New Employment Initiative**

_Published August 2, 2016 / Vicky Vale_

GOTHAM CITY, IL. – WayneTech has announced plans to help at least 20,000 people within the greater Gotham area under the age of 30 find employment over the next three years.

This Youth Employment Initiative will offer jobs and create thousands of apprentice positions and traineeships by 2019.

As part of the new initiative, further details of which will be announced in September, WayneTech will also encourage its other U.S. subsidiaries to offer a job, apprenticeship or traineeship to young people.

**Click for more from Gotham Post Online**

/-\

IT TOOK DIANA NEARLY A DAY TO TRACK HIM DOWN.

Kal had just returned from a week-long trip to Oa with Hal Jordan, but rather than throwing himself back into the line of fire and ensuring the entire world knew that their 'Superman' was back on the job like he had the previous three times he'd departed Earth briefly, he'd vanished, seemingly dropping off the very face of the planet, which with him was something entirely possible. Needing his input on a number of League matters, not the least of which being whether they should go forward with the planned team expansion, Diana started at the usual places – his apartment in Metropolis, Lois Lane's apartment, Bruce's cave, the Kent farm which was oddly empty, and even the ever-expanding Fortress – but he wasn't at any of them, which forced her to get more creative. Relying on her excellent memory, she then visited the places he'd mentioned loving to go to once he learned to fly: the Grand Canyon in Arizona, the Great Pyramids in Egypt, the city of Petra in Jordan, and then finally, the Great Wall of China. It did not occur to her until China that she could simply ping his communicator.

By the time she finally did find him, sitting on a deserted beach on a tiny island in the South Pacific, the day was mostly spent and her temper, ever her bane, was short. The raw beauty of the location quickly cooled her anger, though, and she dropped down to the sand to take a seat alongside him without a word. Kal barely reacted to her presence beyond reaching into the cooler at his side, extracting a bottle and passing it to her. She sipped – it was that glorious beer Hal always brought back to Earth from some distant planet she didn't know the name of – and watched the sun sink below the horizon.

All in all, this was a more than satisfying way to end the day.

It was always a matter of some curiosity to her how comfortable silence could be with Kal. They could sit and relax for hours without speaking a word … though the madness of the world so rarely gave them the opportunity. Steve had never learned this trick and always _had_ to talk when they were alone, even when Diana simply wished to enjoy the silence, which was yet another probable reason their relationship had not worked. He did not need validation or ego stroking as she feared, but simply could not tolerate the quiet, whereas she longed for it at times and Kal seemed to be the same. Idly, Diana wondered if her Kryptonian friend sought silence because he so rarely experienced it thanks to his enhanced senses. She glanced at him, wondering how to phrase such a question, but froze at the expression on his face. Her heart faltered briefly – what had happened? What was wrong?

"Mom has cancer," Kal said softly in response to her unspoken question. Diana inhaled sharply. "The doctors give her six months to a year," he continued, still staring at the rapidly darkening sky. His expression darkened. "She's known about it for a while now …"

"I'm so sorry, Kal," Diana murmured. She hesitated, unsure what to do or how to act. What was appropriate between male and female friends who were not romantically involved? She decided to go with her instincts and wrapped her arms around him tightly. Had he been human, she would have broken bones or pulped internal organs, but to Kal, it was just a warm hug. From the shuddering inhalation she felt him take, it was exactly what he needed.

"The worst part is," he said in a voice that was far too calm, "I've been so damned wrapped up in my own life, in between running around saving the planet from insane monsters like Luthor that I didn't even think to check in on my own mother." Anger tinged his voice then. "What kind of crappy son does that make me?" He kept talking, the words rolling out of his mouth before she could begin to respond. "And do you know what she told me? Why she didn't tell me that she was sick? Because she didn't want me to worry." The muscles in his shoulders were trembling and, with exaggerated caution, he set aside his own bottle. "I have all of these amazing abilities and I can't even save my mother."

"There are treatments," Diana began, her thoughts already turning to Epione. Had anyone ever considered attempting to cure it with magic? On Themyscira, it was unheard of for a sister to pass because of illness or disease, but she did not know if there had been any research in that field in the centuries since the Gods gave them their paradise.

"I know," Kal said. "Mom said her doctor has already looked into some of them – most are still experimental and so expensive…"

"Have you spoken to Bruce?" Diana leaned back and studied her friend. The tension in his body was even more evident in his expression – he looked angry, frustrated, tired, and confused, but most of all, he looked lost. She had seen him giddy and goofy, furious and determined, but always, _always,_ he'd seemed sure of his place in this world. Oh, he'd claimed to have spent nearly two decades walking the Earth just trying to find the answers to his questions, but she had never seen that side of him before. Seeing this vulnerability in him unnerved her.

"I haven't spoken to anyone," he replied. "Mom threw me out after she told me – she said she was going to see her sister but I don't know if that's true or she was just tired of me freaking out – so I flew around for a while, then came here." His expression crumpled. "God … I just remembered … the excuse I gave to Perry for the Oa trip? I told him my mom was sick." Kal closed his eyes then, visibly struggling for control, and Diana hugged him even tighter. They sat there in silence for a long time – she didn't hear him cry or break down as she nearly expected but he did draw in a single, ragged breath – and he finally straightened, once more composed and poised. Only his eyes revealed the pain and fear he now internalized. "Thank you, Diana," he said, his smile tight but genuine.

"Of course," she replied as she extricated herself from their awkward position. They rose at the same time.

"You were looking for me, I guess?" Kal asked. Diana nodded.

"I was, but it is of little importance next to this." She pursed her lips. "I will consult with Epione," she added a moment later. "If there is a cure for this disease found on Themyscira, she will know of it." A sudden flash of self-recrimination flooded through her then – how much other suffering in the world could be eased by treatments known to the Amazons? As a princess, raised to rule and schooled in the arts of war, it had not even occurred to her until now to inquire. If Themyscira could ease those pains, then would not that be a major step forward in her ridiculous mission to wage peace? She glanced away, suddenly unable to meet Kal's eyes, even though his attention was focused on the dark sky.

"Thank you," he said simply. "Good night, Diana," Kal whispered before floating slowly into the sky. He looked strange, wearing his Kryptonian garments with the portable cooler in one hand, and at any other time, she might have jested with him over it. Not now, with his mother facing a bitter future and he heartsick over the thought of losing her.

Her own thoughts heavy, Diana took to the skies as well, summoning Hephaestus' gift to protect her as she accelerated through the night.

/-\

Barely a week after his return to Earth, Clark found himself facing the UN Security Council once again.

This time, though, there was no triumphant meeting with smiling and relieved ambassadors in the wake of a repulsed invasion, but rather, a cluster of small-minded, petty bureaucrats so focused on their own advancement that they made him sick. Against Bruce's recommendations, Clark had informed the UN about his intent to deploy a Kryptonian mobile research platform in orbit over Earth which he intended to be used by the Justice League. Discovered by the Green Lantern Corps, the facility was the primary reason he'd accompanied Hal to Oa.

And while he was there, he'd discovered the Guardians to be just as small-minded and as petty as the UN, who were absolutely convinced that he was one bad day away from trying to conquer the entire damned galaxy. It didn't matter the evidence Hal brought to the contrary, or the years of hard work Clark had put in trying to prove to his adopted homeworld that he _wasn't _a villain in the making. The Guardians had an opinion of him and refused to acknowledge any facts that ran contrary to that opinion.

Evidently, bureaucrats were the same whatever species they might be.

Here, though, the annoying busybodies he had to deal with were less worried that he was going to deploy some mysterious Kryptonian super-weapon than they were that they would not be able to use such weapons themselves. Even the United States, the so-called bastion of freedom and democracy, seemed to be salivating at the thought of Kryptonian-designed tools of war, which only intensified Clark's barely hidden anger. With his mother's sickness constantly preying on his mind and the troubles he and Lois were experiencing, he just wasn't in the mood for these sorts of games.

"How can you not know what is in this station's database?" the Russian ambassador demanded yet again. This was the fourth time Clark had been asked some variation of this question and he knew his frustration was stamped upon his face from the way several of the delegates shifted in their seats.

"If I gave you a computer with the human genome completely mapped out," Clark began tightly, "but all of the notes were in English, could you read them, Ambassador Brusilov?" The whipcord thin ambassador sneered.

"I am not a scientist," he replied.

"Neither am I," Clark retorted before the other man could continue. "And as I grew up on Earth," he continued, "my Kryptonian is not especially great." From their expressions, none of the ambassadors appeared to get it. "Think of it this way," Clark said. "Ask a man from Boston with an especially pronounced accent to speak to an Irishman."

"Is alcohol involved?" the British delegate asked wryly. Laughter echoed in the Council chamber and Clark offered a slight smile.

"What conditions do we have that this is not a weapons platform?" the Chinese ambassador asked through his translator. Clark sighed.

"As I have explained," he said patiently, "this was a mobile, deep-space, research facility. There are no weapons on it nor does the League intend to install any." He continued before they could ask the question a tenth time. "I have already stated an intent to open parts of the platform up to the citizens of Earth once I am satisfied that everything is in working order and we won't experience sudden decompression or loss of atmosphere." The urge to begin drumming his fingers upon the table nearly overtook him, but he thrust it aside. "The principal goal of this facility is to provide early warning for any additional non-terrestrial incursion attempts." He nodded toward the United States delegate. "I believe the Hubble has snapped images of at least two such attempts that were circumvented by the Green Lantern assigned to this sector."

"Three, actually," the American ambassador said grudgingly. She glanced quickly across the table to the British delegate – to someone with his enhanced senses, it was obvious to Clark that the two were romantically involved in some fashion. The cynical part of him, the part that had grown to distrust all persons in power, wondered if the two were married and cheating on their respective spouses.

"So the intent, as I understand it," the British ambassador began, tapping his pen against the table, "you want to use this facility as a sort of … watchtower to enhance the defense of the Earth?"

"That's exactly the idea, sir," Clark said quickly. "The Green Lanterns have identified no less than seven hostile civilizations within striking distance to Earth," he said. As expected, the Security Council and the observers shifted around in concern. "Some of these civilizations – the Khunds, for example – have a well-deserved reputation for barbarism and cruelty." He paused for effect. "Two of the aborted invasions of Earth have been led by Khunds and we have every reason to expect they will try again."

"Why?" The French ambassador looked more troubled than the others, but then, she was born in the immediate aftermath of the Second World War and had grown up in the ruins of Europe, which meant she likely understood such threats better than the relative youngsters sitting alongside her.

"What do all conquerors want?" Clark let his eyes slide to the other Council members. "They want more." Once again, he paused for a long moment. "The signal upload by the Brain InterActive Construct three years ago was apparently an invitation to known despots and tyrants throughout the galaxy to come here and conquer." He frowned. "A Kryptonian caused this trouble when he reactivated the Construct," he said slowly, "and a Kryptonian intends to see it undone." Several of the delegates nodded their approval of this, but to Clark, it was one of the core lessons his dad had taught him: you clean up after yourself. If Zod's people hadn't reactivated Brainiac, this wouldn't even be a problem, but they had and there was no point in crying over something that already happened. "In addition to this first response and extra-solar observational capability," Clark continued, "the League is already in negotiations with certain non-governmental organizations and companies to lease space aboard this … watchtower for additional research projects." Watchtower. He liked the name – it brought to mind an image of stability and defense, so Clark made a mental note to encourage the rest of the League to start using it as well.

_Dear God, _he reflected with an internal smile. _I've become a politician._

After that, the meeting threatened to deteriorate once more into pointless squabbling – the more belligerent Council members wanted even more concessions and access to the Watchtower which he wasn't inclined to provide – but the League communicator Clark wore on his wrist underneath his left sleeve buzzed loudly enough to startle the Council members. Offering them a lopsided smile that probably didn't touch his eyes, he lifted his arm up to his ear.

"I need you in Gotham as soon as possible," Bruce stated. His voice was too low for any of the humans present to hear, but they clearly understood when Clark stood.

"I'm sorry, but there is a situation I must see to," he said calmly. He did not quite blur to the door, but he certainly moved faster than was entirely necessary. No one tried to stop him as he made his way to the nearest exit, which was, as usual, surrounded by reporters and photographers. The cameras began clicking and flashing immediately, and each of the journalists shouted over one another.

Clark heard them all.

He rocketed up into the sky without deigning to answer a single question, but the foolish queries by the paparazzi pursued him. The tabloids were still buzzing over the abrupt end of Diana's relationship with Colonel Trevor, but the intimations they made about the cause – that the colonel wasn't 'super' enough for her or because he had discovered she was involved in a 'super'-affair – absolutely disgusted him. He had no misconceptions about certain parts of his profession, but that didn't stop him from wanting to fry their cameras with his heat vision or maybe tossing their tape recorders into the sun.

Even worse, though, was how weird Lois had become right around when Diana's relationship fell apart. She was quiet a lot of the time, or watched him when she thought he wasn't looking, but the strangest moments were when he played with her sister Lucy's baby girl. There was a weird look in her eye that, at first, he'd thought was a subtle hint she was feeling maternal, though, from the sound of her heartbeat, it almost seemed more like she was afraid of something. He hoped to God that it wasn't him. Was she afraid he was going to hurt her niece? Or was it something else? Clark grimaced – for all of his abilities, he still didn't understand a thing about women.

Thirty miles out of Gotham, he winced at a sudden pulse of sound in a frequency far too high for humans to hear. It was too focused to be an accident and Clark angled sharply toward its origin, dropping down to hug the ground so as to avoid notice. He slowed to a stop just to the left of Bruce's boat and crossed his arms.

"The sun is out," he said calmly, "and you're still in the cowl?"

"Long night," Bruce grumbled. He scowled. "I need your help." Clark followed the direction of his gesture and frowned.

"Let me get this straight," he said slowly. "You pulled me out of a meeting with the United Nations Security Council just so I could move a giant penny to your underground trophy room?"

"Yes." Bruce was silent for a moment. "Is that a problem?"

Clark laughed.

/-\

Once the giant penny was secured in the Cave, Bruce turned his attention to other issues.

Exhaustion rode his shoulders more than normal, though that was almost always the case when he had to deal with Harvey – the guilt twisted and snarled in his gut once more, even though he knew it wasn't really his fault – but he pushed it aside and focused his attention on Clark. It was still odd seeing Kent in the new outfit – according to what Clark told him, it was an expedition hard-suit intended for extended operations in hostile environments; it could generate an air pocket solar visor around his head so he could breathe and communicate with others while in vacuum virtually identical to the ones Zod and his cohorts utilized when they ran amok, and as Bruce had seen with his own eyes, the suit could even extend over Clark's fingers to provide a perfectly sealed system. Discovered on the Kryptonian research vessel currently in orbit around Io, Clark had somehow convinced the onboard A.I. to key it specifically to his genetic code so no one else could use it.

Bruce wanted one so badly it hurt.

Oh, he didn't actually say so, and he knew Clark could see his poorly hidden envy. In their continuing game of friendly one-upmanship, Kent intentionally wore the suit every time they interacted, almost daring him to ask about it. Before his mother's illness came to light, Clark would even smirk and assume a heroic stance when they talked, with fists on his waist and his posture erect to emphasize the pseudo-armor. Had it not been so irksome, it might have even been amusing.

Bruce had his pride, though, so rather than actually inquire about the suit, he had instead discreetly begun redesigning _his _suit to emulate certain of the functions he saw in the Kryptonian outfit. Human technology wasn't quite capable of replicating all of it (or even most of it), but if Bruce had his way, he'd drag WayneTech kicking and screaming into the future. And he always got his way. Always.

Except … Selina had left. She'd left and might not be coming back. He hadn't gotten his way then, had he?

"These are for you," Bruce said as he pushed a glossy, embossed folder into Clark's hands. "Congratulations," he added. "You now have an excellent health insurance program … one that just happens to also cover your mother, regardless of any pre-existing conditions." Clark swallowed.

"Thank you," he said softly. Bruce shrugged.

"This isn't a guarantee," he pointed out. "Even with these experimental treatments, there's only a fifteen to twenty percent chance of remission for someone in her situation." Bruce grimaced – he sounded like he didn't give a damn and Clark deserved better. "I'm still looking into alternate courses of treatment," he started, but Clark waved him off.

"You've done more than I could have asked for," he said. "There's no way I could have afforded something like this, not on my Planet salary." Exhaling deeply, his shoulders slumped and he rubbed his temples. "I'm hoping the Watchtower database will give me more," he added. Bruce frowned.

"Watchtower?" Clark smiled.

"Something the British ambassador said in reference to the station. I liked it." He shrugged. "I figured it was better than calling it the Justice League Space Clubhouse." Bruce's lip twitched.

"According to the _Weekly World News_," he remarked slyly, "we should call it Superman's Space Harem." He snickered at the black expression that flashed across Clark's face. For months, that particular tabloid had been clamoring about what they claimed to be the 'real' reason for the expansion of the League – the addition of Hawkwoman and Black Canary promptly led to an explosion of ridiculous tales about so-called Kryptonian orgies and other unfounded sexcapades that infuriated Clark in a way few other things did. The women all linked to Superman in these stories – Diana, Dinah, Shayera – seemed to find it alternately amusing or just something to be ignored, but Kent? He legitimately wanted to burn the tabloid to the ground.

"The database aboard the Watchtower is more intact than the one I have at the Fortress," Clark said with a sour look on his face, "so I'm hoping I might be able to find something … anything that could point the way to a breakthrough." He exhaled bitterly. "Not sure how much luck I'll have, given how different humans and Kryptonians are biologically. I spent nearly two hours just trying to get the A.I. at the Fortress to understand what I was looking for in the first place." Bruce grunted.

"How is your mother?" he asked after a moment. Clark looked away.

"She's handling this better than I am," he muttered. "I've never seen someone so zen about this sort of thing." Clark balled up his fists. "All I want to do is punch someone or something … but God, that won't accomplish a damned thing."

"Diana hasn't had any luck?"

"No." Clark rubbed his temples. "Amazons might die in battle or in an accident, but not of sickness so that's led their medical studies down a different path." He scowled. "She's afraid to release a lot of their techniques to the public because they're almost solely in the realm of combat medicine and God only knows the morons in charge don't need further encouragement to start shooting at each other again."

"Still," Bruce said softly, "it might be worth reviewing for accident victims. New emergency room procedures, that sort of thing." He made a mental note to have Lucius check with the Wayne Foundation – they could open official negotiations with the Themysciran Embassy to consult on possible new trauma care. He glanced up and saw Clark's eyes swim out of focus – he was using his enhanced hearing to eavesdrop on something … although, once again, Bruce had to wonder if it actually _was_ super hearing or if it was some form of extra-sensory perception that Kent's brain translated as noises he could hear. Sound could only travel so far in atmosphere, but somehow, Clark could still hear things, even if the distance was sufficiently great for the molecular vibration to dissipate. He shook his head – Clark could _fly _and bench press mountains, not to mention shoot lasers from his eyes yet the thing that Bruce constantly focused on was his hearing?

"I need to go," Clark said a moment later. "There's a train crash in southern Canada that could use my help." He was gone a moment later, blurring toward the nearest tunnel exiting the cave. Bruce blinked – could he actually have heard something that far away? Or … maybe it was something else entirely, something he was overlooking in his overestimation on Clark's abilities. He flipped on one of the televisions secured against the far wall and shook his head at the obvious answer: CNN and Fox were both showing aerial coverage of a derailed train.

With a sigh, Bruce turned it off. There wasn't anything to do. And he needed to sleep.

/-\

The Watchtower was officially brought online two months later.

To assuage the concerns of the UN Security Council, Clark initially had Hal secure the Kryptonian space platform in orbit over Mars rather than Earth. This made transit to the station difficult for anyone but him and Jordan, though this was probably for the best since Clark hadn't fully vetted the entire facility. Three weeks after parking it over Mars, Hal relocated it to a stable, geosynchronous orbit over Earth.

From that point, Clark spent all of his free time in the newly christened Watchtower, either interfacing with the artificial intelligence aboard or sitting in a flash learning chair that imprinted decades of Kryptonian knowledge and science directly onto his brain, all in the desperate race against time to save his mother. Bruce had offered to use the flash training as well, but even a cursory amount of research quickly revealed that the process would not work on the brain of a homo sapiens. So Clark thanked him for the offer, but refused to risk frying his friend's brain.

He become almost a virtual hermit, a stranger to his friends and co-workers, and spent as little time in the suit as necessary. When he did don the cape, such as when the latest group of would-be extra-planetary invaders showed up led by a particularly annoying tyrant calling himself Despero, Clark was finally able to vent his frustration and fear. Their battle he quickly took into orbit and then the moon where he unloaded on Despero with a ferocity that frightened even him. Later, the media would hail him for acting so decisively to keep civilians safe, but the truth of the matter was that Clark hadn't even thought about that. He'd just seen a problem he could actually solve by punching it and instinct had taken over. Civilian safety never even occurred to him.

Once more horrified at his lack of forethought, he threw himself back into the flash learning. By the end of month four, he'd obtained the equivalent of a medical doctorate … but it was utterly useless. Everything the A.I. could teach him was centered on Kryptonian physiology, not human. What difference did it make if he knew how to cure dozens of diseases with the application of solar power if that wouldn't do more than give his mother a sunburn? He came very close to tearing apart the Watchtower in anger then, but choked it back.

"Clark, you need to stop this," his mother told him when he visited shortly thereafter. She was frail-looking now, so different from the vibrant, strong woman he thought of as Martha Kent. Her loss of hair was hidden underneath a wig, but there was no way to look at her and not realize she was sick. "The world is too important for you to concentrate entirely on me."

"I don't care about the world," he replied. "I care about you." She'd laughed then, and told him he was being silly before asking him again to tell her about visiting Oa. Her eyes danced at his descriptions – if Hal had not been off-world at the moment, he would have summoned the Lantern to Smallville and demanded the man use his ring to show her everything.

The following day, he took her into space.

She was wearing a Kryptonian enviro-suit salvaged from the Watchtower, but the raw joy in her face as they crested the planet and watched the sun rise was almost too much for him. Clark let her drift and experience the joys of zero-gee, and then flew her to the Watchtower so he could show it to her as well. One of the servitor robots was waiting for them at the airlock and Martha stared at it with wonder.

"Greetings, Kal-El," the servitor said in its pleasant, androgynous voice. "I am detecting an unauthorized human."Clark cocked his head, the motion triggering the semi-transparent solar visor to retract into his hard-suit.

"This is my mother, Kelex," he said.

"Re-classifying, sir." The servitor drifted slightly closer. "Greetings, Martha Kent," it said. "I am Kelex, servitor of the House of El. I am at your disposal." Martha glanced up at Clark, then jerked in slight surprise as her own helmet retracted and disappeared into the gear she wore.

"He's really helpful," Clark said. "Evidently, the Kelex personality matrix is permanently assigned to the House of El." He shook his head. "I knew Kryptonian social culture was rigid, but I didn't know _how _rigid until this little guy came online. Would you believe that every single male member of my House had this same personality in their robots?"

"That is not entirely accurate, sir," Kelex announced. "I am merely a copy of the core Kelex personality matrix housed in the central database and will modify my behavior according to your responses. Over time, this personality may shift to better serve you."

"This is amazing, Clark," Martha said.

"It gets better." He stepped closer to her and wrapped one arm around her. "I can show you Krypton." Martha's breath caught. "Would you like to see it, Mom?" he asked with a smile. She nodded and Clark lifted them both into the air. Kelex floated behind them as he flew toward the holo-imager, keeping his speed slow not just for Martha's sake but also so she could take everything in. It was not a long trip, but he extended it as much as possible. "I just discovered that this capability was even available," he said. "It's like …"

"A holo-deck?" she asked. At his look, she smiled. "We knew you weren't from Earth, Clark, so your dad and I kind of became science fiction fans." She chuckled. "Oh, you should have heard him argue with the television whenever _Star Trek _came on. Every time they did something stupid, he'd throw a fit and call them idiots." Her smile brightened. "And then, he'd get embarrassed as hell the minute he realized I was laughing at him." She turned to look at him, her eyes bright. "When you started developing your powers, we sort of tuned out of the shows. Their aliens were just humans with bumpy foreheads or strange ears who couldn't do a third of the things you could … so it just seemed silly to try and figure out some deep message from a made up show about imaginary aliens."

"Especially when the real alien made things so difficult for you?" Clark smiled to hide his own self-doubt, but Martha clearly saw through it.

"Stop that," she ordered. "You and Jonathan butted heads so often 'cause you were more alike than either of you realized. He was so scared that the government was going to come and take you away from us … and then you started developing your powers … I wanted to take you out of school and teach you at home, but Jon was afraid you'd never learn how to deal with other people if we did." Clark said nothing – he didn't know _what _to say – and drifted slowly to the deck. The holo-imager was offline at the moment, so there was nothing immediately obvious differentiating this section of the Watchtower from any other. It was bowl-shaped, with thick walls and easily sealed hatches. He was still trying to figure out how to turn this into a combat training room; right now, nothing aboard was strong enough to withstand some of the blows he or Diana could dish out.

"Ready?" he asked. Martha nodded. "Kelex, bring Kandor online though keep atmospheric levels set to Earth-norm."

"Compliance, sir."

Around them, the walls of the Watchtower seemed to fall away and were suddenly replaced by a Kryptonian city. Citizens strode by them, wearing their curious-looking clothes and carrying on conversations in what was effectively a dead language. Massive buildings climbed up into the distant sky and the red sun glittered overhead. Great ships lumbered through the air, casting dark shadows across the streets. Martha gasped and turned slowly, her eyes wide and clearly intent on seeing everything.

"This is amazing," she said. Clark smiled as he watched her. Damn, but it was good to see her happy again.

Naturally, the alarm chose that moment to sound.

"Multiple Khundian signatures detected at three two seven by two zero eight by eight four," Kelex announced. "Distance: nineteen light-minutes."

"Sonova-" Clark inhaled and looked at his mother. She smiled.

"Go," she said. "I'm okay here." Clark grimaced, then quickly nodded. He blurred away, flashing toward the airlock. His solar visor deployed the instant the hard-suit detected the atmosphere change and he flexed his fingers as the protective gloves formed around them. The pressure change was noticeable to him as the external airlock hatch cycled opened and Clark pushed off, accelerating rapidly through the hard vacuum.

A flash of green light caused him to frown – Hal was supposed to be offworld, handling some issue with someone or something called Sapphire; from the embarrassed way Jordan promptly changed the subject whenever asked about specifics, chances were good that Sapphire was not only a woman, but also one of Hal's ex-girlfriends – and as he drew closer, Clark was surprised to realize it was a different human wielding the ring. The man was dark-skinned but amazingly fit and he wore his hair shaved in an unmistakably military manner, but the difference between his constructs from Jordan's was even more apparent: where Hal had a tendency to be constantly surrounded by airplanes and jets (or dancing cheerleaders, though he didn't do that very often around Diana since she'd once glared at him and then hit the construct so hard it splintered into a trillion pieces), this Lantern stuck more to the basics with laser-like blasts that bored through Khundian hulls or solid barriers to block incoming fire. There was a kind of workmanlike efficiency to this Lantern that contrasted with Hal's tendency to show off.

By the time Clark reached the engagement, it was already over, with the debris of at least three frigate-sized starships drifting and dozens of smaller craft shattered beyond recognition. The survivors were already lumped together in an immense emerald globe and the Lantern was judiciously seeking any other potential rescues. He glanced at Clark's approach, did a quick double-take at the presence of the solar visor but nodded in greeting. His ring pulsed briefly and Clark felt the crackle of his comm-unit before he heard it.

"That's a new look for you, sir," the Lantern remarked. Clark blinked – he knew this man. "I like the new suit though."

"Captain Stewart," he said with surprise in his voice. The Lantern nodded.

"John Stewart, alternate Ring-Bearer for Sector 2814," Stewart said. "The Guardians decided that Darkseid's direct presence on Earth spoke of need for a second Lantern." He flashed a mirthless smile. "I pulled the duty." The former Marine glanced toward the wreckage and scowled. "I let a couple of them get away on purpose – hopefully the word will get out that we're not playing around anymore." His dark look took in the prisoners floating in his bubble. "After I drop these guys off at a Lantern holding facility," he continued, "I'll report in with you, sir." With a flash of his ring, he darted away, the sphere containing captured Khunds reforming into a much larger construct that rapidly became what honestly looked like a flying troop carrier.

"Don't call me 'sir,'" Clark muttered under his breath as he re-oriented himself toward the Watchtower.

/-\

Martha Kent died on a Wednesday.

She went peacefully in her sleep, in the hospice she'd moved into a month earlier (against Kal's wishes) when her condition began to deteriorate and the experimental treatments failed to slow the ravages of her cancer. Kal wasn't on Earth when she passed, although he had visited her only hours earlier before rushing straight back to the Watchtower where he once again threw himself into his studies.

The day of her funeral came and went – Diana attended, cloaked and hidden by Hephaestus' magicks, and she was momentarily surprised to see Bruce here, but then, he'd discreetly allowed it to become common knowledge in media circles that he'd met Mr. Kent when the reporter was on assignment in Gotham and an unlikely friendship developed … which honestly wasn't that far removed from the truth.

Kal vanished almost as soon as the funeral was over, appearing only sporadically in his guise as Earth's 'Superman.' When he did appear, he struck with such intensity that everyone on the planet noticed. He ripped Schott's latest killbot into pieces, smashed apart not one but two of Luthor's elaborate machinations to destroy him, and then, following their murder of two Daily Planet reporters, tore through the organized crime syndicate called Intergang with such fury that it would likely take years for them to recover. Days turned into weeks, which then turned into months, and still, Kal continued to act so oddly. The media went wild with speculation as to the nature of his mysterious disappearance – the tabloids naturally came up with the most outlandish explanations, far too many of them directly tied to Diana herself – and even the members of the League started whispering. Diana should have been disgusted or at least surprised when Bruce dumped this in her lap, but she wasn't. In fact, she'd halfway expected it.

So here she was, tapping softly on Lois Lane's apartment window at eight in the morning.

"Shhh!" Lane pushed open the door of her balcony and ushered Diana in, a harried look on her face and her voice low. "I just got the little monster to sleep!"

"The monster?" Diana glanced around, automatically tensing. She frowned at the sight of Lois' apartment – on the three or four times she'd visited, everything had been in its place, as if Lois loathed disorder, but right now, it almost appeared as though a tiny hurricane had passed through and left only a mess in its wake. There were disheveled cushions, open suitcases shoved into a corner and several blankets tossed onto the floor. Lois herself appeared exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes and her hair hanging limply.

"My niece," Lois said. She collapsed onto her sofa and leaned forward to bury her head in her hands. "I love the little beast … but my God, I think that kid hates me." Diana felt her lips curl upward, but she quickly schooled her expression to one of studied concern. "She cries all the time, even when she's not hungry or needs changing or … God …"

"Where is your sister?" Diana glanced around again, nodding at the suitcases. She suddenly remembered Kal mentioning prior to his mother's passing that Lois' sister was visiting. He had insisted that he was not complaining about the younger Lane even as he did exactly that.

"Dad came into town last night." Lois straightened. "I'm not sure which one of them had the bright idea to leave that little monster here with me when they went out to breakfast, but I'm thinking about shooting them both when they get back." She shook her head. "This is Dad's less than subtle way of trying to encourage me to 'settle down and stop trying to be a man in a man's world.'" Lois glowered. "Jerk." She glanced up. "You're looking for Clark?"

"I am." Diana sighed softly. "I did not want to pressure him so soon after Martha's passing but …" Lois smirked.

"Those chickens in tights elected you to see how he's doing, right?" At Diana's look, Lane's shrugged before blowing out a frustrated breath. "I haven't seen much of him lately … in between Dad not liking him at all, and Lucy flirting with him at every opportunity she can, and now Martha … he's been throwing himself into his work like you wouldn't believe." She abruptly blinked. "Actually, I guess you probably do have a good idea, don't you?"

"I do." Diana looked away, wondering how best to phrase her next question. She had no desire to imply things of which she had no knowledge. "You have more experience with men than I do," she said softly. "Is his behavior normal for one who has suffered this kind of loss?"

"Because I'm a wonderful human being," Lois stated with a tired smile, "I'm going to ignore the implication about my romantic history with men I doubt you intended and answer your question with another question. How would _you_ describe him right now?" Diana frowned and crossed her arms.

"Reserved," she answered immediately. "Distant. Detached." The last word came the hardest, but Truth was always painful.

"Not the exact words I would use," Lois said slowly, "but accurate enough." She sighed. "You haven't lost any family, have you?" She continued before Diana could even respond. "Everyone grieves differently. Clark told me that he struggled for a long time after his dad died and that was before he had donned the tights and cape. You know how much stress he's been under in between half of the governments treating him like he was about to go crazy and the other half acting as if he was the Second Coming …" She frowned. "But … I'm just as worried as you are. He's pushing himself so hard …"

The sound of keys in the door caused Lois' head to snap up. Her eyes widened as she glanced between Diana and the front room.

"It's them!" she said in an urgent whisper. "You can't … he can't … they can't see you like that!"

"So they will not," Diana said. She struck her bracers together, feeling the transformational magicks wash over her. The weight of her armor vanished and was suddenly replaced with the feel of rough fabric against her skin. Her tiara shifted and altered in size, turning into Hephaestus' enchanted glasses, even as the embossed bracers shrank, and became slim and decorative. With a slight smile, Diana pulled the glasses off of her head and pushed them up on her nose.

"Neat trick," Lois murmured. Comprehension flared in her eyes. "His glasses! That's where he got those!"

"Lois!" a masculine voice called out. Almost instantly, the sound of a baby stirring in a different room caused Lane to glare in the direction of the man now entering. He was of average height, solidly built and with a warrior's bearing. The instant he saw Diana, his stride faltered slightly and his eyes narrowed. Several steps behind him was a young woman with blonde hair and a striking resemblance to Lois.

"See to your monster, Lucy," Lois ordered before glaring at her father. "I _just _got her to sleep and you had to come in here shouting like we're in the barracks."

"I'm sorry," General Lane said, but he did not actually like he meant it. Instead, he kept his eyes on Diana. "Who's your friend?" he asked. Diana offered her hand.

"Diana Prince," she said. "I am an old friend of Clark's."

"So, your boyfriend has his ex-girlfriends stop by and you're okay with this?" Lane shot a frown of disappointment in his daughter's direction, which only intensified Lois' anger. She looked to be on the verge of losing her temper.

"I appear to have come at a bad time," Diana interjected. "Lois, we should meet to have lunch later this week."

"I'll see you out," Lois said. She escorted Diana to the door, shooting dark glares over her shoulder in her father's direction. "I'm sorry about that," she murmured. "He's a jerk who needs a punch to the face." She glowered. "He's going to check out your name," Lois added.

"That is of no concern," Diana said. "A friend ensured that it will withstand most scrutiny."

"A Gotham friend?" Lois asked with a smirk before shaking her head. "Give me a call later this week," she ordered. "We'll put our heads together about Clark." Diana nodded. "Now, if you'll excuse me," Lois said with a frown and dark look cast toward the sound of her father's voice, "I have to go murder someone. I may need a character witness for the trial." Diana smiled.

"I might be able to do that," she said. "It would no doubt help if the body is still intact." Lois rolled her eyes in an exaggerated manner.

"Well, so much for my disposal by woodchipper idea." Diana chuckled slightly and turned away. She heard Lois shut the door behind her. The shouting began before Diana was even three steps before.

Thirty seconds later, she was airborne.

/-\

Clark enjoyed the silence.

He floated in space, midway between Venus and Mercury, and stared at the glowing orb that was the sun. Even at this great distance, he could feel the effect of the solar radiation on his body. It wiped away his exhaustion, super-charged his muscles and, in general, left him feeling like he could do anything. Here, in this moment, he could smash meteors, shatter moons, juggle comets, boil seas from orbit with his heat vision … he could do anything.

And still, his mother was gone.

The comm-array set in his hard-suit's belt vibrated and Clark frowned. He didn't want to talk to anyone right now, but duty was something he understood all too well.

"Receive," he said into the integrated headset that was part of his solar visor.

"Unknown mass displacement detected inside Jupiter orbit," Kelex announced. "Ring-bearer Stewart has already moved to investigate."

"Acknowledged," Clark replied.

"Additionally," Kelex continued, "you have received multiple messages from Princess Diana and Mrs. Lane." Clark grimaced – he'd tried his best to avoid both of them for the last couple of months as he grieved and continued his studies. That was another reason for this … recharge. His imprint learning was done – the whole of the Kryptonian database was finished. He was finished.

And he was exhausted.

Already, the flash training was beginning to pay startling dividends – through various shell companies set up for his use by Bruce, Clark had released a dozen new cancer treatments prompted by his discoveries, all of which were racing through the FDA trials and could potentially revolutionize the medical industry. None of these would have saved his mother – at best, they might have extended her life another few months – but they were a start. At first, he'd wanted to just give these new discoveries to the world for free, but Bruce had talked him out of that.

"There are enough people who still don't trust you to lock these treatments up in testing for decades," Wayne pointed out. "And that doesn't even take into account the pharmaceutical companies that are going to take a massive hit when some of your discoveries make their drugs obsolete."

So Clark had acquiesced and channeled his research through Bruce, who then generated new identities for the imaginary people ostensibly responsible. He seeded these made up doctors and biologists and chemists through dozens of different companies scattered throughout the medical industry so no one would necessarily link them back to him. Some of the companies had ties to Wayne Industries, some did not.

Absolutely _none _of them were linked to any of Luthor's holdings. That was part of Clark's requirements and Bruce had been excruciatingly thorough in his own research.

"Acknowledge the messages," Clark said calmly to Kelex, "and advise them both I will return their calls shortly." He winced at the implication Diana and Lois were teaming up on his absence, but filed it away and let the warmth from the sun continue to soak into his bones. Here, there was nothing to concern him, nothing to distract him, nothing to cause further grief. He forced his muscles to relax.

"Incoming transmission from Ring-bearer Stewart," Kelex said moments later. The headset crackled and the servitor's voice was suddenly replaced with Stewart's.

"Green Lantern to Superman," the former Marine said from millions of kilometers away. "Please respond." Clark did not open his eyes as he spoke.

"I read you, Lantern." There was a noticeable lag due to the vast distance between them.

"Good. I need you here as soon as possible." Lantern did not sound under duress, but there was something in his voice that Clark didn't like. "I'm just outside Jupiter and I'm looking at the energy signature we detected. It's a ship." He paused and when he spoke again, Clark's world was forever changed.

"And it's Kryptonian."

* * *

**A/N #2: **Regarding the question about Lois knowing Kal's identity, the answer is yes. This uses _Man of Steel _as a springboard, remember? She knows.

+ The "hard-suit" is very obviously intended to look like the Supes' redesign in New52. I rather like it.

+ The "solar visor" is the nifty thing the Kryptonians were wearing throughout MoS (mmm ... Faora ... mmm ...) I like the idea of Kal needing oxygen, so it seemed logical to presume that he would use those things. Plus? They were really cool. If I had any artistic capability, I would so try to do a manip of Kal in the nu52 suit with the Kryptonian solar visor...

+ Having not read the GL books in like forever (I think I last picked up a GL book when Raynor was Lantern and had only started on them right when Hal went crazy), I don't know if they've ever explained why Earth has two, sometimes three Lanterns at any given time. So having it revolve around Darkseid hitting the planet seemed logical to me.

+ This chapter marks the biggest departure from both pre-Flashpoint canon and SM/WW fics in general as I've got Lois & Diana not being at each other's throats or jealous of one another. Just wanted to try something different.

+ Re: the penny. I've often wondered how Bruce got all that crap into the Cave. This actually makes sense to me ... TBH, one of the things I've always thought they failed to address in terms of why so many people might be afraid of the Bat is what he brings to the table. Think about it: not only is he a scary bad-ass in general, but he's also very good friends with a flying powerhouse who can shoot lasers from his eyes, not to mention the scary immortal Amazon, the guy with the magic ring, and then the dude who can kill you "in a flash." That would be just as scary as the dude in the batsuit.


	5. Year Five: Heirs

**Year Five: Heirs**

**Author's Note: **Not sure why I hated the previous chapter so much, but rather like this one. Probably because, as **chiroho** suggested, it was a transitional one.

* * *

**Billionaire Takes In Circus Orphan**

_Published June 18, 2017 / Vesper Fairchild_

GOTHAM CITY, IL. – Sources inside Gotham City Child Protection have confirmed that Bruce Wayne has filed paperwork to assume temporary guardianship for Richard Grayson, the circus acrobat orphaned in such a dramatic manner one week ago.

Wayne, 29, was an eyewitness to the deaths of Grayson's parents, John and Mary Grayson, when their high wire snapped during a performance at the Haley Circus in what was initially called a tragic accident but is now believed to have been a homicide linked to an extortion ring. Authorities are still investigating.

An orphan himself, Wayne is a well-known backer of charities for underprivileged children throughout Gotham. According to tax returns obtained by the Gotham Post, Wayne contributed over three million dollars to local charities last year alone, most of these monies dedicated to orphans and families affected by violent crime.

**Click for more from Gotham Post Online**

/-\

HE FOUND THE BOY PERCHED ON THE ROOFTOP.

Bruce approached quietly, recognizing from Grayson's body language that he was perfectly at ease with the height even though he was still quivering with fury. Less than a week had elapsed since the circus, since he felt his heart shatter at the sight of another boy kneeling over the bodies of his parents, and Bruce still wasn't sure what had come over him when he asked if young Mister Grayson could stay at the Manor while Gotham's absurdly slow bureaucracy labored to determine what to do with him. He didn't have the time needed for a grieving boy, especially one so young and so angry and so like he was at that age…

Dammit.

"You went out there tonight," he growled, his voice causing Grayson to jerk in surprise. The boy never lost his balance, even when startled. A part of Bruce noted that with more than a little admiration. "To the circus," Bruce added. "Don't bother denying it."

"Batman…?!" Grayson's eyes widened. "What are _you _doing here? What do you know about _me?!_" He was scared but defiant, and the ever-present rage was still there.

"I know enough," Bruce replied. He studied the young man carefully, noting how easily Richard shifted his place on the decorative edifice. They were a hundred feet from the ground with very little to catch onto should he fall, but Grayson barely seemed to notice. And from what Alfred had said, that was the case when inside as well – the chandelier would probably survive, but Bruce wasn't sure his butler would.

"I keep thinking about what happened," the boy said tightly, anger in every line of his body. "My father _always_ checked the lines. It _couldn't _be an accident!" At once, Bruce recognized what was eating at the young man: like he had with his own dad, Richard very likely worshiped his father and if this turned out to be the elder Grayson's fault, then that meant the older man's negligence had killed both of the boy's parents. For a very long time, Bruce had wondered about that himself – why had his father been so calm, so quick to yield to that shaky man with the wide eyes? Had he been to blame? Was there something Thomas Wayne, M.D., could have done to prevent that tragedy? Even now, the idea that his father might have erred gave Bruce pause.

And to his further surprise, he realized he could not let this boy suffer the same way.

"It wasn't," he said with a frown.

"What?" Grayson's eyes, which had drifted away from Bruce's – he was examining the cape with a child's fascination, even despite the anger – snapped back up.

"The trapeze rope that snapped," Bruce said. "It was _made _to look like it was worn out." He paused briefly, wondering why he was explaining this, but the words kept coming. "I found traces of an acid on the rope. Just enough." His voice darkened. "And I've seen what _that _acid can do to people." The old familiar stab of guilt punched him in the gut. Harvey. Lost to the madness that was Gotham. Perhaps it was best Selina was gone. Would this city swallow her up as well?

"I want to help." Grayson rose to his feet in a fluid motion that Bruce had to envy. The boy stood tall and firm, fists clenched at his side and purpose in his face that Bruce recognized all too well. It did not seem that long ago when he glared at Alfred in the same manner.

"You will," he said, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them. "When the time is right. I promise." Almost instantly, he wanted to drag that promise back … but The Batman could never be seen as indecisive, even by a thirteen year old boy.

Grayson mentioned something else before Bruce could make his escape, something about a fat man which matched elements of his investigation, but there were other, more pressing matters to handle at the moment. The Hangman Killer was still on the loose, Gordon had assembled a new taskforce to take down some of the more … exotic criminals running loose in the city, and Selina … she was still gone.

And it was Father's Day.

Somehow, he found himself standing before his parents' graves, staring at the elaborate tombstones and wondering how things would have worked out if he'd just sat through that damned opera. Would he have been able to give his dad a father's day gift in person? Or would some other senseless tragedy have robbed him of years? Would he have faded and finally passed in his sleep like Clark's mother? Would Gotham have chewed Thomas Wayne up and spat him out in some other way? If he closed his eyes, Bruce could still smell their blood, could still taste the gunpowder in the air, could still hear the sharp retort of the pistol as it stole two lives. Even as he was dying, his father tried to reassure him.

"It's okay," Thomas Wayne had murmured.

But it hadn't been okay. And it still wasn't okay. Anger warred with grief, and he wondered at his sanity. Others lost close family members every day and had for decades, especially in this cesspool of a city, but he could not let it go. Why? Why was he still trapped in that moment? What was wrong with him?

"I … tried to get out here sooner," he said softly. He could almost see his dad's amused look – it was the same one he wore whenever Bruce had done something he shouldn't have. "I don't have any excuse," he murmured before the words once again began tumbling out. He told them about Richard, about how the boy had lost his own parents, and how badly it hurt seeing the same pain in a different boy's eyes he'd felt so long ago. Tears did not come, of course – Bruce couldn't remember the last time he'd actually cried which, according to much of the medical documentation he'd read was something of an anomaly as well – but as he touched his father's name, he felt a renewed rush of grief.

Grief … and rage. Somewhere, in Gotham, at this very moment, another boy or girl was hugging their daddy for the last time. Somewhere, another monster was about to inflict the same pain on an innocent child. Bruce clenched his fist and ground his teeth together.

Not tonight. Not on his watch.

Tonight, he would show the monsters why _they _were afraid of the dark.

/-\

Not even the peace and serenity of Hera's temple could ease her discomfort.

Diana rose slowly from her knees where she had knelt before the icon of the Mother, but guidance remained frustratingly absent. Her decision to spend the evening in prayer and meditation was not uncommon – out there, in Patriarch's World, she had so little time to attend to her spiritual needs that she invariably needed it when she returned to Themyscira – but the intensity of her need was. Ares was no longer bound.

The God of War was loose upon the world once more.

No one in the American Department of Metahuman Affairs knew how Ares escaped from the containment cell – from the recordings, he was there one moment and simply gone the next – and, while they were concerned, none of them quite understood how grave the situation truly was. Even Steve, who had witnessed the war god's insanity firsthand, was not inclined to dedicate adequate worry regarding his escape.

"That's what you and the League are around for, right?" he'd asked with a tight smile. It was the first time she had looked upon him since they decided to end their courtship nigh on two years ago and Steve had aged. He wore it well enough – the streaks of silver in his hair lent a distinguished look and the new wrinkles on his face appeared to be from smiling – but the change was undeniable. Had she needed another reminder that these mortals were short-lived, Steve's appearance would have served perfectly. By her reckoning, he was perhaps a year shy of forty and, though he was still fit and active, his healthiest years were behind him. And yet, Diana stood still. In three years time, she would see her first century of life pass and she remained as she had since five and twenty. Pending death by violence, she would remain thus for all time.

Never before had Diana felt this lonely.

She walked slowly from the temple to Hera, breathing in the comforting air of the island as she trod over familiar ground. There were more sentries standing watch tonight than normal, which pleased her. Unlike those in Patriarch's World, her mother had taken the warnings about Ares to heart immediately. If the God of War meant to strike here, he would not find them easy meat.

Her feet carried her to Hermes' shrine and she automatically knelt before the icon. In recent days, she had learned a newfound respect for the Patron of Travelers, and she silently thanked him for his protection as she ventured to lands she'd only heard of or read about. Four years had passed since she departed the island and still, she had yet to lose her wonder at the sight of places she'd never seen. In their own way, they were all beautiful, whether it was the stark desolation of the Arabian desert, to the cosmopolitan cites of America and Europe, to the primitive feel of deepest Africa where no humans had ventured for centuries. Was this why Hermes was so often portrayed as absent from Olympus?

She knelt there for a considerable time, long enough for her silent shadow to grow bored and approach. Artemis' steps were light, but her frustration was palpable and it made Diana smile. Her friend had never enjoyed guard duty, especially when she would rather be actively seeking out their enemies.

"Has my mother assigned you to watch over me, Sister?" Diana asked. The flame-haired woman came within striking distance and stopped, glowering down at her which only intensified Diana's amusement. They were of an age and, had the Bana-Mighdall come to Themyscira much sooner, it was probable they would have been raised as sisters.

"You know she did," Artemis replied. Her voice was silky and smooth, so unlike her normally abrasive personality, and she crossed her arms as she spoke, not bothering to hide her general contempt for all things religious. To most of Diana's tribe, that very thought was heretical, but Artemis did not care about how others perceived her. In that, she was much like Kal's lover, Lois, who made little effort to conceal her distrust of those in power. "I do not know why," Artemis grumbled. "As the Champion of Themyscira, you should not be concerned about a mere god of war."

"I see your disposition is as affectionate as ever," Diana said with a smile as she rose quickly to her feet. Artemis shot her a scowl, but Diana ignored it. She began walking and Artemis easily matched her pace.

"Are you going to be about this mystical nonsense for much longer, Princess?" the flame-haired woman asked. "I have a wish to see my bed before the sun rises." She frowned. "Although a skin of wine would not go amiss." Diana laughed softly.

"That _does _sound pleasant," she remarked. "I have an offworld beer I must introduce you to." Artemis clearly perked up at that and looked to almost be on the verge of an actual smile. She drew breath to comment.

A gong sounded.

It echoed across the breadth of Themyscira, so powerful that the very ground trembled, and a heartbeat later, lightning cracked the sky. Wind howled and thunder boomed. The gong sounded again, this time striking a discordant note that set Diana's teeth on edge. She whirled back toward the origin – Hermes' shrine – and clashed her bracers together, instantly triggering the transformative magics within.

"Up spears!" Artemis bellowed, her voice somehow carrying over the thunder rolling through the heavens. "To arms, you bitches! To arms!"

Diana was already airborne, darting toward the eye of the storm. Hurricane-force gusts battered at her, threatening to dash her to the ground, but she pressed on, willing herself to continue forward. There, at the very heart of this disturbance, she could see a tear in reality, a vortex that spat forth ribbons of light and fire. The statue of Hermes glowed bright against the maelstrom, as if the god himself were preventing the portal from shattering the island. Diana landed next to it, instantly summoning Hephaestus' shield and stepping forward, as if she were standing next to other hoplites and readying their wall of armor. The wind continued to howl and she concentrated, expanding the size of her shield to cover more area. She took a step forward.

And nearly cried out in surprise when a body tumbled through the hole in reality.

The gusts of wind carried the girl through the air into one of the ornately carved columns that held the shrine's roof up. Her impact shattered the marble and she spun off it, still limp and unmoving. With her right hand, Diana instinctively snatched her lariat free and sent it flashing toward the girl. It wrapped around her, arresting her tumble, and Diana side-stepped quickly, placing herself – and her shield – between the girl and the portal. She heard rather than saw Artemis seize the child. Refocusing her full attention on the vortex, Diana felt her breath catch.

She saw Themyscira.

It was aflame and shattered, with temples burning and flashes of light she took to be weapons-fire. An immense explosion threw great geysers of rock and dirt into the air. Something dark but massive tumbled through the sky and vanished in another fireball. A wave of heat washed out of the vortex.

And for the span of a single heartbeat, Diana saw a woman standing before the vortex.

She was dressed in green and gold, with a face so similar to Diana's mother it was jarring. Blood caked the woman's face and her blonde hair was burnt and smoking. Her eyes widened the instance her gaze locked with Diana's and she opened her mouth to say something.

But in that instant, she vanished in a column of fire.

With a shuddering explosion, the vortex vanished. The detonation shattered the shrine to Hermes, sending marble and stone fragments spinning. Diana staggered back a step, grunting with the effort as the released energy splashed across her invisible shield. It pounded at her, striking with force she had not experienced since Darkseid, and she strained to hold her place, to absorb the heat and fire and killing energy into Hephaestus' gift. It would not be enough. She was pushed back another step.

And then, the girl who had fallen through the cracks of the world sprang to her side.

With a flicker, a second unseen barrier sprang up, originating from bracers nearly identical to those wrapped around Diana's arms. They locked their shields together, pressed back against the maelstrom and a flood of unseen power joined them from somewhere else. Diana did not question the unexpected boon, but instead, accepted it as a gift and poured it into her will. Their shields sparked and danced. Together, they held the line.

The force from the vortex lessened, then faded entirely, leaving only destruction and two pairs of brightly glowing bracers in their wake. Diana sagged in relief, noting that the girl dropped to her knees, before forcing herself to stand upright. She glanced around, wincing at the fractured marble that had torn great divots into the ground. The statue of Hermes was untouched, she noticed with a smile, though it had inexplicably been turned to face the vortex and the god's hand was held aloft, as if he were gesturing for someone to stop.

"Thank you, my lord," Diana said softly. Even with the girl aiding her, her strength would have been inadequate had he not discreetly intervened.

"Princess!" Artemis drew closer, her eyes locked on the girl. To Diana's mild surprise, a bruise was forming on her friend's face.

"I am unharmed," the girl announced before Diana could speak. She rose and turned to face Artemis. Whatever she had to say died the instant her eyes fell on Diana. And for her part, Diana did not know what to say either.

The girl had her face.

"Bring my mother, Artemis," Diana ordered.

"By your command, Highness," the flame-haired woman turned and vanished at a run.

"Who are you?" the girl asked at the same Diana posed the same question. Hera, it was like looking in a cracked mirror! The girl even tilted her head the same way!

"The portal you came through," Diana said after a moment. "I saw another Themyscira." The girl immediately looked toward where the vortex had been and frowned.

"I do not know of this … Themyscira," she said slowly. "If you speak of Ilios, then that was my home." She frowned. "My mother … did you see her?" The girl began looking around. "She was to follow."

"I saw a woman in gold and green," Diana admitted, "but the fires took her. I am sorry." The girl's shoulders slumped. She did not weep but was clearly pained. When she looked up, Diana met her eyes and refused to look away.

"This place is Themyscira, then?" Diana nodded.

"And I am Diana, daughter of Hippolyta, who rules." The girl's eyes widened.

"Hippolyta?" she repeated softly. "How … she died, millenia ago…" Shaking her head, the girl looked up. "I was named Despoina by my mother, Antiope, who ruled Ilios in the name of the gods." She swallowed. "But everyone calls me Donna."

/-\

The noise of the Daily Planet was deafening.

No one paid much attention to him as he weaved through the obstacle course of reporters' desks, trash cans knocked askew, errant office chairs and the most lethal of all threats, the computer cable tripwire. The rattle of printer wheels grinding, of fingers banging against keyboards, of metal spoons thundering within coffee cubs, of humanity in general thudded and pounded against his skull, and Clark grimaced.

"You look like hell, Clark," Lois murmured as he slid into his desk chair. She was chewing on her pen and squinting at the page in her hand, intentionally ignoring the reading glasses perched on the top of her head that she constantly insisted weren't necessary. Later, when no one else was around, she would use them, but only when she could not be seen by anyone. "Everything okay?"

"Difficult night," he replied. Lois rolled her eyes – she knew full well that he'd been at the Fortress, trying to determine how to unseal the Kryptonian stasis-tube he had retrieved from Jupiter orbit without killing the girl inside; the damage the pod had taken prior to discovery was fairly significant and Clark was far from certain that just opening it wouldn't kill the girl outright – and then tossed him a wink before returning to work. She only did that when Lombard was bothering her again and, normally, Clark would give Steve a careful look just a little shy of intimidating, but today, his head hurt too damned much. He carefully sat down in his office chair, pinching the bridge of his nose and wincing. Dear God, humanity was noisy today.

And just like that, all of the noise, all of the unrelenting sound battering against his enhanced senses suddenly vanished, as if someone had simply flipped a switch.

"Good afternoon, Kal-El," a calm, measured voice said. Clark looked up slowly, his body tensing only slightly as he took in the dark-skinned man in the rumpled green suit and battered leather jacket. A badge was secured to his belt and, from the stylized design, it identified this man as Detective Jones of the Special Crimes Unit. Whoever this man was, though, he was _not _human. His body's temperature was too low, his heartbeat barely existent, and he was far too light on his feet for a man his size. Out of the corner of his eyes, Clark could tell that no one seemed to be paying attention to them; even Lois, who was, in his expert opinion, the nosiest woman alive, did not even glance up from her desk. "I apologize for visiting you in this way," the man who was _not _Detective Jones said, "but this seemed the easiest method to present you with this." He placed a thin rod on Clark's desk – it was a Kryptonian control key! – before offering a slight smile that looked odd on his face. "It should allow you to access the stasis pod."

"How do you know that?" Clark asked. Part of him was screaming in panic – here he was, carrying on a conversation with this … not-man in public about things he desperately wanted to keep private and yet, for some reason, he _wasn't_ freaking out – but it all felt distant, muted, like he was observing someone else's thoughts.

"I knew her father quite well." Not-Jones smiled again. His eyes shifted, as if he was hearing something that Clark couldn't. "My time here is limited," he said. "We shall talk again soon, Kal-El."

And then, he fell through the floor.

The cacophony of noise that had vanished moments earlier returned just as abruptly, slamming into Clark with the force of a runaway truck. He grunted softly, his eyes still locked on the floor where the stranger had disappeared. Had that just happened? It didn't seem possible … he wouldn't have a conversation like that with someone he didn't know. His gaze shifted, falling on the black control key now resting on his desk.

Clark swallowed.

"Can you let Perry know I had to duck out?" he asked tightly when a quick scan of the building revealed no sign of the dark-skinned man. Lois looked up and frowned at his expression. "Something has come up and I need to check it out."

"Super," she said with an almost smirk. "If he asks, I'll tell him you're checking out that shooting on Shuster." Clark almost groaned at her sneakiness – now, he _would _have to check out that particular incident since he knew Perry would ask about it – but nodded instead. Shaking his head, he stood, grabbed the control key, and walked toward one of the larger break rooms near the back of this floor – unofficially, it was called 'the smokehouse' due to the large open window that allowed the smokers on the staff to duck in to get their nicotine fix without completely violating the 'clean-air' policy of the building. The window was a little taller than Clark himself and opened up onto the fire escape. No one was present at the moment and, with a quick sweep of his enhanced vision, Clark was fairly certain the coast was clear. He blurred through the window, then accelerated sharply away from the Planet, curving up and deeper into the city. Moving too fast to be recognized as anything but a simple blur, he darted through the air, triggering the Kryptonian suit's systems as he twisted around the artificial canyons of the city and climbed into the sky. Instantly, the hard light hologram that gave him the appearance of slacks and a shirt fell away, revealing the easily recognizable blue and red of Superman. The cape, firmly secured to his back in a stiff square, suddenly quivered and unwrapped itself. With his left hand, Clark pulled the glasses off his face and placed them on his belt. As they always did, they shifted and shrank, turning into just another indefinable lump on the red belt – he still didn't understand how they worked, or how they knew when to go into camouflage mode, or even how they deflected people's attention from him, but whatever their secret was, it couldn't be magic. Magic simply couldn't exist. It was just technology he didn't understand yet.

He slowed to a hover once he reached a height that would make him impossible to see by normal human eyes, and began scanning the streets and alleys around the Planet for some sign of the stranger. When he found nothing, he expanded his search, all the while trying desperately to remember everything he could about the man. Already, his memory of what the stranger looked like was fading, as if the entire moment had been a strange dream he'd just woken from. Clark couldn't remember the man's skin color or how tall he was or even what had been said. If it wasn't for the control key in his hand, he doubted he would remember … remember … what the hell was he doing up here? He had the key that could unlock that tube!

The solar visor had not deployed yet as he breached the upper atmosphere and Clark slowed for a moment, luxuriating in the still silence of space. For the first time in several weeks, his headache eased, prompting him to mentally schedule a trip to the Moon for a few hours. More and more, it was beginning to look like he would need to park himself in a vacuum for a few hours every couple of weeks if he was going to be able to handle the noise of humanity. He could still concentrate through the noise and ignore most of the worst, but the strain …

He entered a section of the Watchtower that was normally sealed off – access was only possible through a single external airlock that only he had access to at the moment – and floated toward the stasis tube secured in the very center of the laboratory. Thus far, he'd been able to determine very few little about the occupant thanks to the extensive structural damage. The occupant was a she, likely less than twenty years of age, and with a skin tone that resembled that of a Caucasian. Briefly, Clark wondered if there were any blacks on Krypton, or just people with darker complexions than his, or the equivalent of Asians, but he thrust the idle thought aside as he examined the control key.

"Online," he said as soon as his solar visor retracted into his suit. A subtle whir answered him. "I have the control key for this tube."

"Acknowledged, sir." Kelex's voice floated out of the hidden speakers but the actual servitor droid was not present as Clark had relocated it to the Fortress. "May I inquire where you obtained it, sir?" Clark frowned.

"I have no idea," he said. He didn't have it yesterday … in fact, he was pretty certain he didn't have it this morning when he walked into the Planet. "I want a full spectrum analysis of it," he ordered as he placed it carefully on one of the scanning trays. "Use an isolated system but make sure it actually is what it looks like.'

"Compliance, sir." Clark glanced at the tube briefly before frowning once more.

"While you're at it," he said, "let's do a neural scan on me. I have no memory of how I got this thing and that is unacceptable." The leftmost wall unfolded, reshaping into a chair. Clark slid his cape out of the way and took a seat. He leaned back and waited.

"Scans complete," Kelex's disembodied voice announced. "Which shall I review first, sir?"

"The key."

"Acknowledged. According to my scans, this control key's composition conforms to expected Kryptonian alloys and parameters. My initial review of the internal circuit indicates it is not a system override key, but a dedicated system one."

"Any idea about the creator?" Clark asked.

"No, sir."

"Wonderful." Clark shook his head. "And the neural scan?"

"As you know, sir," Kelex replied, "your physiology under a yellow sun is difficult to quantify, but I am detecting dwindling indications of neural manipulation within your frontal lobe."

"Telepathy," Clark guessed. "So whoever did it tampered with my short-term memory _while _talking to me. Smart fellow." He made a mental note to review possible ways to combat such future assaults. "Any long-term damage?"

"Not that I can detect." Kelex was silent for a moment. "Would you like me to schedule regular scans to ensure this does not continue to occur?" Clark nodded.

"Yes." He _pushed _against the floor and floated to his feet. Even before he was fully upright, the chair retracted into the wall. "Let's give that key a try," he said. "Bring the atmosphere to Krypton standard." As soon as his hard-suit recognized the change in atmospherics, it deployed the protective solar visor. Clark grimaced slightly – he hated that his body was simply incapable of handling his native environment, but he'd adapted to Earth too well.

"Ready, sir," Kelex announced moments later. Wincing at how heavy he felt, Clark picked up the control key and lumbered toward the stasis tube. Locating the access port was easy and the key snapped into place. A moment later, the pod's internal lighting activated and entire sections began to peel away, revealing more than the girl's face. Clark's breath caught.

She was wearing the seal of the House of El.

"Body temperature stabilizing," Kelex announced. "Neural patterns normalizing. She should wake momentarily."

She did. Slowly, the girl opened her eyes. A clear lack of coherence reflected on her face as she glanced around, still wearing the expression of the heavily drugged. She blinked as she looked up at Clark and slowly, comprehension replaced the confusion. Her eyes widened as she glanced around rapidly. She looked back at Clark.

And screamed.

"Relax!" Clark said in his best Kryptonian. According to Kelex, his accent was 'abnormal,' which Clark took to mean atrocious, but it was evidently clear enough to the girl as she scrambled out of the tube and back-pedaled away from him. "I am not a threat!"

"Who are you?" she demanded. Her Kryptonian was smooth, flawless and spoken so quickly that Clark had some difficulty following her words. "Where is my Father? Where am I? What are you-"

"Wait!" Clark held out a hand, hoping to forestall her rush of questions. "My name is Kal-El," he continued. "My parents were Jor-El and Lara." Confusion flashed across the girl's face then.

"What?" She glanced over him, frowning at the presence of the solar visor. "They have no children," she snapped.

"They did, actually," Clark replied. "Evidently, I was a freebirth." He meant the words to be soothing, but they had the opposite effect as she recoiled and stared at him with horror. _Might as well tear off the whole band-aid all at once_, he reflected. "I'm sorry," he said, "but Krypton is gone." He placed his hand against one of the wall controls and triggered the shutters. They slid away, revealing Earth. The girl's eyes widened even more.

"What … how …" She closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath, and visibly composed herself. When she opened her eyes again, she locked gazes with him. "Where am I?" she asked.

"In orbit over Earth," Clark said. He gestured toward the planet. "I grew up here, after my parents sent me away from Krypton before it was destroyed." He glanced away. "I spent the first thirty-three years of my life not even knowing I was Kryptonian."

"That … that would explain your accent," the girl murmured. "I need proof … quantifiable facts that I can verify before … wait." Her eyes narrowed. "If Jor-El sent you from Krypton," she said sharply, "then how do you know it is lost?"

"Zod saw it die," Clark said sadly. He glanced toward one of the optical cameras. "Kelex," he called out, "I need some chairs."

"Acknowledged, sir," came the instant response. The floor shifted as a pair of wide chairs rose up. To Clark's surprise, the girl actually seemed to relax fractionally. It struck him then – Kelex. She would know his voice since all male members of the House of El had the same servitor personality matrix.

"Kal-El," she said slowly, as if testing the name. "I knew my aunt and uncle were renegades … but a freebirth?" She shook her head.

"Aunt?" Clark repeated. It took him a moment to fully comprehend the Kryptonian word and translate it to its English counterpart. His breath caught. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Kara," the girl replied. "Kara Zor-El."

/-\

The girl who named herself Despoina did not resist as Diana led her to the Hall of Judgment.

It was a portentous name for such an unassuming chamber, with Hippolyta's high-backed chair facing a small, elevated platform around which a handful of benches were scattered. Here, the queen passed sentence upon those charged with crimes against the nation, but the chamber had not been used even once in Diana's memory. Her mother was already present, attired in her most queenly garments, with Phillipus standing in attendance, fully armed and ready for battle. The girl's steps faltered as she caught sight of Hippolyta, but she held her head erect and continued forward.

For her part, Diana was more than a little confused. Why was her mother insisting on speaking to Despoina … Donna here? The girl was no criminal. Without thinking, she squared her shoulders slightly and tensed her muscles, as if in preparation for a fight. If needs be, she would defend this girl who looked so much like her…

"Am I being charged with a crime?" Des … Donna asked. She looked Hippolyta in the eye and refused to blink.

"I concur," Diana said. "She has done nothing wrong." The girl glanced at her with something like surprise on her face, but she quickly smoothed her reaction away and resumed her poised stance. To Diana's mild surprise, her mother almost cracked a smile.

"Be at ease, both of you," the queen instructed. "The throne room was damaged by your little encounter earlier." She rose from the throne and approached, her eyes locked on Donna. "You claim to be the child of Antiope?"

"I claim nothing," Donna replied. She swallowed but otherwise appeared unruffled. "My mother _was _Antiope, queen of Ilios." She cocked her head. "You look much like her," she remarked softly. "Her hair was different, her eyes … but you … you look like her." The girl's voice caught slightly, to which Diana shot her mother a dark look. Hippolyta softened slightly and clapped sharply.

"Guards!" she called out. Artemis stuck her head into the room, which made Diana frown slightly. The Bana-Mighdall venerated Antiope as a sacred ancestor. How would they react to a child claiming to be her daughter? The peace between their two tribes was tenuous enough. "Bring us chairs!" Hippolyta ordered. As Artemis turned to obey, the queen smiled at Donna. "We shall hear your story, child," she said calmly, "and help as much as we can."

Donna's story turned out to be a dark one with many familiar elements. As with their world, her mother was sister to Hippolyta, but events differed from nearly that point. It was Hippolyta who pursued war against Herakles against Athena's explicit wishes and would later remain in Man's World for reasons Donna did not know. She would later be murdered thanks to the machinations of Medea, which led to Queen Antiope and her tribe withdrawing entirely from the known world. Hera herself would relocate Ilios, though Priam would use the name for his own nation which was sacked by the Achaeans some forty years later.

"We only ventured back into Man's World some months ago," Donna said some time later. "And that was because the sky turned black and the ground trembled for days and days." She sipped from the diluted wine that Artemis brought along with the chairs. "Beings from the stars with powers that rivaled the gods had descended upon Man's World where they waged war against each other and nearly destroyed the entire planet." Diana inhaled sharply, drawing all eyes to her.

"With your permission, Mother," she said. Hippolyta nodded and Diana knelt before Donna. She began tracing Kal's seal in the dirt. "Did one of these beings bear this symbol?" she asked.

"He did!" Donna glanced between them. "He fought against the others but fell when they united against him, though I understand he did not fall easily or without taking some of his enemies with him." The idea of Kal dying in battle against such overwhelming odds caused Diana to grimace slightly for some reason and she tried to ignore her mother's gimlet stare as she returned to her seat.

"And they were responsible for the fires I saw?" she asked. Donna shook her head.

"No." Her expression hardened. "That came later. Demons from the sky fell upon Ilios." She shivered. "Their master was a one-eyed giant of stone." Diana froze.

"Darkseid," she said. Donna's head snapped around.

"You know of him?"

"I took his eye," Diana replied. Her weapon hand ached in remembered sympathy – the sword itself had shattered and even Hephaestus could not salvage the pieces, despite his great skill. "On this world, the man who wore that symbol," she said, gesturing to Kal's seal in the dirt, "survived and was victorious. He and I and some others threw Darkseid back when he came to this world." Even now, nearly two years later, she could still recall how badly it hurt when Darkseid blasted her with those eye beams of his.

"Then this world was mightier than mine," Donna said. She turned her attention to Hippolyta. "I have no claim to hospitality, Your Highness," she said, "but I do ask for shelter and sanctuary until such a time that I might be able to return to my world and retake it from Darkseid."

"And you shall have it." Hippolyta offered her a soft smile. "Though we may be from different worlds, we are still family. Any daughter of Antiope is welcome here."

"Welcome, sister," Diana said. She smiled.

But out of the corner of her eye, she could not but to notice the Bana-Mighdall guards watching Donna with a strangely fervent light in their eyes.

/-\

The mid-July air was sticky and hot, but Bruce did his best to ignore it as he crouched in the shadows and watched a drug dealer peddle his poison.

With each moment that passed, the urge to swoop down on the piece of slime and beat him to within an inch of his life swelled, but this particular investigation required patience, not violence. Stopping one dealer wasn't enough – he needed to follow this little fish to the larger sharks providing this poison and then break the backs of this entire operation. He snapped photographs of each person who visited the dealer – time permitting, they would all be quite surprised when he paid them a visit.

"Incoming left," a familiar voice announced via the earpiece in his cowl, and a moment later, Clark stood on the building next to him. Kent was wearing the hard-suit as normal, though the familiar blue and red had been replaced with black. Yet another one of the special features of the suit allowed Clark to change the colors by way of the integrated controls on the belt. He called this camouflage mode … and Bruce had some really good ideas about how to incorporate something similar in his next generation suit. "Drug dealers?" Clark frowned. "I thought you were focusing on that hangman killer?"

"I'm multi-tasking," Bruce replied tightly. "What do you want?"

"Perry is harassing me about the rumors Bruce Wayne has taken in an orphan," Clark said. "Since he knows I'm your friend, he … _asked _me to abuse my friendship and make inquiries."

"Noted." Bruce snapped another set of photos. "Tell him Wayne threw you out and threatened to sue the Planet into the ground if his privacy was violated." Clark gave him smile.

"I'd already intended to say something like that, actually," he said. "Taking in a kid though … that's pretty out of character for you, isn't it?"

"Young men looking for revenge don't need encouragement," Bruce said flatly, repeating something that that Alfred had told him. "They need guidance." He glanced toward Clark. "I've been where he is and I know the rage."

"He's thirteen, Bruce." Clark shook his head. "How can you even consider bringing him into this kind of life?" Bruce glowered – he'd heard these same arguments already … but only inside his head when he chastised himself for encouraging Richard. What did it say about him that his conscience sounded exactly like Kent? He scowled.

"This is Gotham City," he said darkly. "We have two kinds of people here, Kent: predators and prey. I'm trying to ensure he isn't a victim."

Clark was silent for several minutes. He crossed his arms over his chest, concealing the darkened House of El symbol, and stared at the city with a deep frown on his face. Twice, he opened his mouth to reply, and twice, he kept silent. Finally, he shook his head.

"And what happens if he dies out here?" he asked carefully. "This isn't a game … you know that."

"I do." Bruce exhaled. "I won't let him engage until I think he is ready. That might be two months. It might be two years." He lifted his camera.

"That man is wired," Clark announced.

"He's a vice cop," Bruce said with a glower. "I've had an eye on him for a while. Watch for money to change hands." As he expected, the dealer passed over a roll of money which the police officer took and pocketed. Bruce snapped a half dozen pictures – he would ensure that Gordon received these images later; what the commissioner did was his business – and fought back a dark smirk at how angrily Clark glared at the now retreating cop. "Was there anything else?"

"Actually, there was." Clark sighed. "I think I tracked down that telepath I've been looking for," he said. "I think he's-"

"John Jones," Bruce said flatly. "Detective-Sergeant with the Special Crimes Unit under Captain Sawyer." Kent scowled.

"I hate you sometimes," he muttered. "I really, really do."

"He's not human," Bruce continued. "I don't think he's a threat – his closure record is actually quite impressive – but you might want to check in on him anyway." He cocked his head. "How's Kara?"

"Frustrated." Clark grimaced and rubbed his temples. "She's having more trouble acclimating to Earth's atmosphere than she would like to admit," he continued, "so she takes it out on me." He shook his head again. "She's also not real pleased with my choice of careers. Evidently, the House of El are members of the Thinker's Guild and I'm acting like a Warrior which doesn't sit well with her at all." Bruce grunted and snapped another set of photographs. He frowned in recognition of the latest client – it was one of the anchors for the WLS six o'clock news whose public struggle with substance abuse was well known in Gotham – before glancing back toward Clark.

To his utter lack of surprise, Kent was gone.

"I hate it when he does that," Bruce muttered.

He returned his attention to the drug dealer below.

/-\

With a low boom, Clark broke the sound barrier.

He continued to accelerate, pouring on the speed as he arced up and over greater North America. Canada flashed under him, then the Atlantic ocean, before finally, he breached the air space over Europe. Angling down, he bled off much of his speed as he streaked toward mid-Germany and the giant scorpion-like robot running amok through downtown Frankfurt. Explosions and tracer fire lanced up – the military had arrived.

_Contain the situation_, he reminded himself as he arrowed down through the clouds. Seemingly at the last instant, he pulled up so he didn't crater into the street and he flashed toward the hostile, staying mere inches above the concrete. A scan of the eight-legged robot revealed very little – there were heavy sheets of armor covering the more sensitive parts and quite a bit of it somehow blocked his x-ray vision – but he was able to easily recognize the aesthetics.

Luthor.

Glowering darkly, Clark _pushed _harder and the speed of his flight rattled parked cars and set off alarms. The military had done an excellent job of cordoning off the zone – the few civilians present were either media or local police – but the smoking wrecks that had once been armored personnel vehicles indicated it had not been easy. Twisting around a corner, he flashed toward the giant machine, heat bubbling from his eyes and carving a vicious furrow through the robot's chest. He slammed into it at just under seven hundred miles per hour, the force of the impact picking the monstrosity up and knocking it back into a hastily erected barrier wall.

Apertures on the robot slid open as slabs of armor fell away and missiles streaked out and toward him, but he had come to expect this sort of thing from Luthor and his eyes flashed, incinerating the dangerous ordinance before it could curve away and hurt the innocents of the city. Most of the missile vanished in fierce explosions, but two resisted the beams and curled toward him, detonating with small thunderclaps.

Agony screamed through him and Clark tumbled back to the ground. What the hell was that? His body felt heavy and slow, like it did when he was operating in a Kryptonian atmosphere. He shook his head and looked up, just as the robot righted itself. More of the ports slid open. His head spinning, Clark focused on the ever-present heat behind his eyes.

But nothing happened.

Crimson light streaked from the robot's projector arrays upon its tail, burning into Clark's body with the intensity of a thousand suns. He cried out in sudden pain – it was like his skin itself was on fire or the blood in his veins had become molten lava – and he struggled to move. His muscles twitched and spasmed, but he couldn't move.

"Finally." An all-too familiar voice spoke over the pain and Clark was vaguely aware of Luthor's face appearing on the surface of the robot. If he followed his usual pattern, the display was set to a frequency no human could see and the mocking comment was made in a pitch not even dogs could hear. There would be nothing to directly tie him to this murder machine and a dozen things providing him with plausible deniability. In fact, at this very moment, Luthor was supposed to sitting in a jail cell in the middle of Nevada, with no access to outside technology whatsoever while his latest appeal walked its way through the court system. "Do you have any idea how difficult it was to replicate Brainiac's solar projector? How much money I had to spend just to get the correct frequency?" Luthor's image smiled maliciously. "But I succeeded. I always succeed. And now, Kryptonian, you die."

With a whir, the robot's two massive pinchers slid forward, seizing Clark by the arms and slowly drawing him closer to the light burning through his body. He struggled against their grip, fought to find the strength to tear free or rocket up into the sky, but his body refused to obey. Pain pounded through him. He was vaguely aware that the robot's stinger was preparing for a final blow but he couldn't move.

"Any last words, Kryptonian?" Luthor asked.

He never saw it coming.

A golden streak slashed down from the sky, slamming into the robot at just over the speed of sound. The impact carried the armored figure through the robot and into the street below, tearing free great gouts of concrete. Windows and other breakables shattered in all directions at the resulting shockwave, and Clark himself was sent tumbling. He hit the ground hard and slid, but already, his strength was returning and his vision was clearing. Without thinking, he threw himself up into the air, just in time to see another great chunk of the robot crumple under the impact of blows that could shatter mountains. His savior floated above the smoking ruin that had once been a Luthor death trap.

Diana.

She was fully encased in her battle armor, a fierce expression on her face as the barely transparent shield emanating from her left bracer sparked and sizzled in the air. A great spear was in her other hand and it dripped black from where it had punched through the robot's hull and penetrated the thing's inner workings. With a casual snap of her right hand, Diana flicked the viscous fluid – oil? Robots needed oil, right? Clark made a note to check with Bruce later – off the spearhead.

"Are you well?" she asked with a casual but quick glance. "I came as quickly as I could."

"And just in time it seems," Clark replied. He winced – the pain had not fully abated – before giving her a smile. "I'm pretty sure you just saved my life," he said. "Thanks." The smile she returned lit up her face and her eyes danced with merriment.

"I just happened to be in the neighborhood," she said before gesturing toward the robot again. "Is it dead?" Clark nodded.

"Looks like you knocked out its central processing unit on your first strike," he commented as he slowly returned to the ground. He gave a thumbs up to several of the military personnel still in the area and they visibly relaxed. A second later, he heard one of them radioing headquarters to advise them that the situation was contained.

Diana frowned as she eyed him and the obvious way he was favoring his left side which still stung like hell. She released the spear – it should have clattered to the ground, but instead, it shrank and seemed to almost retract into embossed bracer on her right arm where, a moment later, he could see only a stylized representation of a spear – and flexed the fingers of her left hand, which deactivated the shield. Clark still hadn't figured out the technology behind her gear, but he would continue to research them. There was no way they were magic.

"This was a close one, Kal," she murmured, her voice so low no one else could hear her words. "I know you do not wish to consider it," she continued, "but Luthor … he needs to be put down."

"That isn't my decision," Clark replied. He floated toward the lead officer – a major by his rank insignia – and gestured toward the robot. "Do you need any further assistance?" he asked calmly. The major shook his head.

"No, sir," he said in only slightly accented English. "Thank you for your timely arrival." He shifted his eyes to Diana. "And to you, ma'am, for your even better timing." Diana smiled at him, unaware of how devastating that expression was to mere mortals.

"The League is always happy to assist, Major," she said brightly in perfect, unaccented German. She began floating upward, slow enough for Clark to recognize that was his unspoken cue to join her. Together, they climbed higher and higher, faster than most commercial aircraft, but slow enough to continue their conversation. "He won't stop until you are dead, Kal," she said.

"And the moment I kill him," Clark replied, "is the moment the world stops trusting me again." He shivered – even now, five years after the fact, he still had nightmares about Zod's death; try as he might, he could not see any way he could have stopped that monster but it haunted him still – and glanced at her. "As long as he focuses on me," Clark said, "he's less likely to target his madness against others." She frowned and he continued before she could respond. "Kara is having difficulty with fine control of her strength," he said as they continued to gain altitude. "And it's frustrating the hell out of her. Out of both of us, actually." Diana nodded her understanding. "So I want to bounce an idea off you," he said.

/-\

Kara Zor-El was, in Diana's opinion, a smug, self-centered, conceited, spoiled fool of a girl.

Kal's cousin had barely set foot upon Themyscira before she began complaining about the lack of the comforts she was accustomed to. The architecture and general lack of technology appeared to displease her, and the expectation that she would assist in the various manual labor chores necessary caused almost open shock, but the discovery that she would be instructed in the use of martial weapons almost caused open panic.

"I am a member of the House of El," she said, disgust dripping off her words. She spoke English reasonably well now, though with a curious accent. "We are Thinkers, not Warriors." Diana looked at her calmly – Kal had warned her she might be recalcitrant because, according to him, Kryptonians were so rigid in their mindsets, one could barely reason with them; she still wondered if he noticed the irony of the statement, considering the source – and then did the only thing she could in this situation.

She punched Kara in the face.

It was hardly a real blow – she'd traded harsher strikes with Kal during their all too infrequent sparring sessions and was fairly confident that Bruce would have been able to take this strike with little more than a deep bruise – but from the way Kara reacted, one would think she had been gutted by a spear. The Kryptonian girl staggered back, stumbling over the loose rocks on the training ground before falling back, landing hard on her arse. Diana crossed her arms as she looked down at the girl who was cradling her nose with both hands while tears leaked out of her eyes.

"You struck me!" she said in a high-pitched voice.

"I did," Diana agreed. She crouched before Kara. "I know this is difficult for you," she continued, "but your world, your way of doing things? They're gone." She watched as the words sank in. "Krypton is lost and there are only two Els remaining. You have to do things differently now."

"I spent sixteen cycles training to be a member of the Thinker's Guild!" Kara retorted. According to Kal, she had not yet mastered her heat vision principally because of how uncomfortable it was to utilize, so Diana was not worried about looking the girl in the eyes. "I have no desire to be a warrior!"

"Then don't be," Diana replied. "Become the greatest scientist this world has ever known … but you are not leaving this island until I am satisfied that you can defend yourself." When the girl pouted again, Diana almost sighed. "I promised Kal that I would see this done, child," she said, "and Hera help me, if I must strip your hide from dusk to dawn to batter some sense into your dense skull, I shall." A low, delighted laugh from the direction of the queen's seat almost caused Diana to flush – those were very nearly the same words her mother had told her decades ago when she went through a phase where she had no interest in martial training. Her mother _had _to be amused at how things had changed. "Beyond this island, the world is a dangerous place," she continued. "Your cousin tries to better it, not just by example but by deeds." She frowned. "Is he the only El worthy of that crest?" she asked. "Or are you simply unequal to the task?"

Anger flashed across the girl's face, followed closely by fear and a quickly buried sadness. Silently, Diana cursed herself – though she might conceal it, this young woman was still grieving for lost family. An idea struck her then and she straightened.

"Donna," she called out. The summoned girl approached, dressed in the training gear of a warrior's apprentice, and Kara obviously noticed at once how similar Donna looked to Diana. Even more importantly, she observed her youth. Only a few years separated the two and both were grieving. Where Kara evidently hid away her pain, Donna embraced it and focused into a rage that Diana feared would eat her alive. Perhaps what they both needed was a friend to help them both find some balance. "I am assigning you the duties to teach Kara shield and spear." Donna opened her mouth to speak but just as quickly snapped her mouth shut. "She has no experience with fighting so teach her well." Diana returned her eyes to Kara. "What say you, child?" she asked. "Are you as worthy of that crest as your cousin?"

Her jaw tight, Kara Zor-El rose to her feet.

"Teach me," she commanded.

And Diana smiled.

* * *

**A/N #2: **Some random musings.

+ The dialogue in the first section is lifted verbatim from chapter 9 of the wickedly awesome _Batman: Dark Victory_ by Jeph Loeb and Tim Sale which I envision taking place throughout this year in Gotham. As with the animated Batman series, when Dick (and that name is going to be hard as hell to really use given the modern language; I may have to avoid using it entirely) assumes the Robin mantle, he's going to be wearing the original Tim Drake/Robin III suit (with pants and a cape with black exterior, yellow interior.) For that matter, I mentally use their representation of Selina Kyle as opposed to the short-haired version we see in much later stuff. Also? At this point, Bruce & Selina are ignorant of their respective costumed identities.

+ Incorporating Kara is difficult based on Man of Steel. I know the prequel comic indicates she was the empty pod on the scoutship/Fortress, but that wasn't on the screen, so I'm ignoring it. Originally, Zor-El sent her ahead of Kal with the intent of raising him ... but in MoS, Kal's birth was a secret so that doesn't make sense. Clearly, Zor-El listened at least a little to his brother's warnings. Interestingly enough, bringing her in means that she's the same evolutionary dead end that Jor-El indicated all other Kryptonians _but _Kal were since she was born and raised on Krypton.

+ Mental image of "John Jones" is Phil Morris who played him on _Smallville. _I dropped out of that show shortly after he appeared, but I really did like his appearance and it works in well with my future plans. A note: I've depowered him quite a bit. He can phase, change shape, fly and is probably the most powerful telepath on the planet, but I removed all of his pseudo-Kryptonian powers (laser vision, absurd strength, absurd toughness, etc.) Having him be more of a stealth asset works better with said plans.

+ Incorporating Donna is nearly as difficult as Kara in the wake of my decision to use the new52 "Diana is Zeus' offspring" idea. (And before you ask, no, she doesn't know that even though Darkseid all but told her when he hailed her as an "Olympian" back in chapter 3. She thought he recognized her armor and accouterments, but he obviously recognized a lot more than that.) As to Donna's birth name, I worked backwards: Donna is Lady or Mistress in Italian, so Despoina is Lady or Mistress in Greek (as a child, she probably butchered her name to just Donna which everyone else called her by), and Ilios is another name for Troy. Aren't I brilliant?

+ Regarding the Bana-Mighdall, while I didn't come out and say, I sort of mentally envision Diana encountering them during her travels in Year Two, after the big Pentagon fight. So they haven't been on Themyscira very long. If you are unaware of who they are, the short story is Antiope led a group of Amazons off Themyscira after Herakles & Co. raped and pillaged (she would eventually be murdered by Circe), and that group eventually got sucked into Egypt and other weird stuff. Not being on Themyscira, they lacked the whole immortality, no sickness thing, and abducted and raped men to maintain their numbers (which makes them exactly like the new52 Amazons under the current writing team, I believe.) Di encountered them and they re-located the remnants of their tribe to Themyscira.

+ In regards to Artemis' relationship with Di, while I didn't say it, in my head, their's was once a romantic relationship and is now perhaps akin to a friends with benefits one. I'm not of the mind that Diana is completely sexless and with her upbringing, it only makes sense that she's very likely bisexual, but incorporating that into the text without it seeming titillating was something I couldn't manage. Just keep in mind (or ignore it, I'm okay either way) that the two have a history. It won't be a major factor or anything, but it might come up again.


	6. Year Six: Lightning

**Year Six: Lightning**

**Author's Note: **Thanks for sticking with this!

* * *

**Experts Baffled By Greek Storm System**

_Published February 22, 2018 / Ronald Troupe_

ATHENS, GREECE. – An unprecedented storm system continues to cover much of mainland Greece in thick clouds, causing massive delays in air travel, according to the Hellenic National Meteorological Service, which said during an emergency bulletin on Tuesday that downpours and thunderstorms are expected to continue and might be accompanied by a shower of hail.

Large hailstones fell in Imathia, central Macedonia, on Tuesday, causing damage to crops, cars, solar panels and resulting in twelve injuries.

This unprecedented storm system developed with little warning and has lingered for much longer than experts believed possible.

**Click for more from Daily Planet Online**

/-\

THE SKY WAS ON FIRE.

Thunder boomed. Lightning stabbed downward, exploding against the mountain surface with a shower of dirt and shattered rock. Dark clouds blocked out the sun, but there was no rain despite the atmospheric conditions so conducive to it. The wine-dark sea rolled and twisted, churning angrily as if in response to the fierce storm overhead. Diving temperatures chilled the air, despite the time of year.

And floating in the middle of the Aegean Sea was a woman.

Waves carried the battered figure toward a desolate stretch of abandoned beach, hurling her ever closer toward looming rocks that jutted up and out of the water, but somehow, she missed them all, as if the sea itself was protecting her, cradling her, directing her. Barely aware of her surroundings, she instinctively dragged herself forward when her feet touched solid ground, finally collapsing on the white sand where she lingered in that hazy twilight halfway between consciousness and complete oblivion. Her garments were torn and shredded, and her exposed skin was criss-crossed with cuts and slashes. Bruises decorated her face and arms. Great chunks of her sodden hair had been hacked free. She looked more dead than alive.

Thus, Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons, returned to Greece.

/-\

She jolted awake a long time later.

Her body trembled as cold wind continued to wail and she groaned with the effort needed to crawl to her knees. She looked down, noting with exhausted relief that her left hand was still balled up in a tight fist. The sharp contours of the totem presented to her by Hermes himself dug into her palm, but she ignored the discomfort. Pain could be managed.

With agonizing slowness, Hippolyta staggered to her feet. Muscles stiff from abuse, she bit back the urge to weep when her footing faltered and she stumbled to her knees. Still shivering, she hugged her arms around her body in a desperate attempt to retain warmth before glancing around in a vain effort to identify her surroundings – the air tasted like home, but the rocks were not familiar. She could not see the sun because of the clouds so she knew not what time of day it was, but none of that was important. All that mattered was accomplishing her task.

Her entire body trembling, she limped away from the beach, clutching the tattered remains of her clothes tighter. Each step was agony – her left knee was swollen and both of her feet were bloody – but she limped forward, forcing herself to stay in motion, to not falter even a single step. The totem in her left hand dug deeper into her skin, but that gave her something to focus on, something to light the last flickering embers of hope.

"One time and one time only," Hermes had told her when he pulled her free from the Oracles' abode, "that totem will take you to where you _must _go." The god looked at her, bleeding and beaten himself, and smiled. "Husband your strength, Hippolyta, for it will be needed in the coming days. We … all of us are relying on your strength."

And then, she'd been falling from the heavens. The dark sea had rushed up to meet her, accepting her into Poseidon's embrace, but he had spat her out and carried her here.

Light and sound drew her on – she could hear laughter and other sounds of merriment – and she limped through the haze of pain of exhaustion. The mission … her task … she could not fail. By Hera, she would not fail.

"Oh, my God!" a masculine voice cried out. The light suddenly blinded her and Hippolyta automatically threw up her right hand to shield her face. It took a long eternity for her brain to fully register the voice and the language, but by then, there were already others crowding around her, throwing warm blankets over her shoulders and directing her toward more light. There were too many voices speaking at once for her to fully register what was being said – instinctive fear swelled up when she heard Men and she recoiled away from them, at which point they were promptly replaced by women who spoke in soothing tones.

"Go get Doctor Kapatelis!" one of the women snapped as she and another maneuvered Hippolyta into a camp chair of some sort. "Kelly, I need that first aid kit of yours!" The woman touched Hippolyta on the face. "Ma'am?" she said. "You're safe now. You can relax."

_"Not safe,"_ Hippolyta replied, unknowingly slipping into her native tongue.

"I've never heard that dialect before," a newcomer announced. She was older than the rest, with short-cropped white-streaked blonde hair and unusual-looking spectacles perched upon her nose. Two men – boys, really; Hippolyta doubted they had seen twenty summers yet – hovered anxiously by her side, and the matron quickly jerked her head to the left. "Bobby, go get the truck ready." One of the boys sprang to obey. "Jimmy, get on the phone and try to find out if there's a doctor in town."

"Yes, ma'am," the other boy said. He too fled.

_"My name is Julia Kapatelis,_" the woman said in fluent Greek, though it was the modern dialect Hippolyta disliked so much because it lacked the poetry of the tongue she knew. _"Can you understand me?" _

"I speak English," Hippolyta replied after a long moment. She hugged the blankets closer and looked around. "Where … where am I?"

"Skryos," the woman replied. "This is an archeological dig but we thought there was no one around for ten miles or so." She frowned. "May I ask your name?" Hippolyta opened her mouth to respond, to answer with the truth, but prudence held her tongue. Ares would be looking for her now. He would have to know she was no longer a captive and his rage would be terrible to behold. Hippolyta instinctively winced.

"Lyta," she said, though no one but Antiope had used it in her youth. Even Phillipus was more formal when they were alone and the gods knew she had more right any other to be free with her tongue. "I must get away from here," she said quickly. "I must …" She trailed off. Where would she go? The Oracles had given her the answer but she had not the wit to puzzle it out, not when the whole of creation and her Amazons suffered, not when Ares …

Overhead, thunder cracked again and lightning lanced across the sky. The wind, which had eased, picked up once more, shrieking with Ares' rage as he unleashed the power now at his fingertips. Torrential rains fell, pelting the ground and skin alike with bruising force. Kapatelis and her students – for what else could she be other than a teacher? – reacted with great consternation, while Hippolyta buried herself deeper within the blankets. It had been a mistake to sit. Now, her body, so long abused, demanded rest.

"That's it," Kapatelis announced loudly. "Pack it up. We're breaking camp and heading back before this storm gets completely out of hand." There were a few groans and some muttered comments, though they were lost in the rapid thunder. Flashes of great streaks of lightning coursed downward, stabbing into the Aegean. Despite her exhaustion, Hippolyta smiled then. So, Poseidon had not knelt before him. Perhaps there was time yet.

She lost track of time as her mind, dulled by days of pain and lack of sleep, drifted, but somehow, Kapatelis managed to get her into one of the horseless wagons where it was blessedly dry and even warmer than before. _I must not slumber! _Hippolyta told herself, but she slipped closer and closer to darkness with each moment that passed.

"I know you from somewhere, don't I?" Kapatelis' question came out of nowhere and jolted Hippolyta awake. She turned bleary eyes to the woman who was seated behind a circle of some unusual composition. It was a directional aid of some sort, like a tiller, though she did something with her feet to make this conveyance move. Hippolyta studied the woman's profile for a moment, opening her senses to her host's spirit. Warmth and peace washed over her and, for the first time in a very long time, Hippolyta relaxed.

"Yes," she replied softly. _"Thetis brought you to us when you were a child,"_ she continued, once more unconsciously lapsing into her native language. _"Pythia blessed you, I think, after Epione tended to you." _She smiled sadly. _"Diana was the only one who could calm you when you grew fussy." _She realized that her host had grown silent and looked to her left. Kapatelis' eyes were locked on the road stretching out before them, but her hands clung so tightly to the round tiller device that Hippolyta could see her knuckles had turned white.

"Dear God," the woman murmured. "That actually happened." She shuddered. Finally, she turned her head to meet Hippolyta's eyes. "Who are you really?" she asked.

"Hippolyta. I am queen of Themyscira, of the twin nations of Amazons." Hippolyta grimaced. "In exile now, seeking an answer to a riddle that will once again free my sisters from bondage." Her sisters … and her daughter.

A riddle. That was it. Had not Diana regaled her with tales from that ally of hers, the one she called Bat-Man? He had a foe who taunted with riddles and this Bat-Man solved them. And did not the riddle itself speak of his wisdom? Silently, she thanked Athena for the knowledge imparted to her. There was still a chance…

"I must escape Greece," she said. "How far is this Gotham?" Kapatelis blinked.

"Gotham City?" She looked incredulous. "Why the hell would you want to go there?" Hippolyta leaned back in her seat and shivered.

"Because Ares has taken Zeus' thunderbolt," she whispered, "and there is one in this Gotham place that might answer a riddle given to me by Apollo's Oracles."

/-\

Two days later, she was airborne, traveling upon one of the fantastic marvels of this age.

With no way to directly contact this Bat-Man – Julia admitted that she had, until Hippolyta spoke of him, thought he was a myth of some sort since he was never photographed or seen among the Justice League – the next course of action was to seek him out. From Skyros, they took a ferry to the town of Kymi, and then climbed aboard a long conveyance Julia called a bus. It took them to Athens … which looked nothing like Hippolyta remembered it from her last visit, nigh on four hundred years earlier. Once in Athens, Julia made a few calls before producing a set of documents that amusingly identified Hippolyta as her daughter, Vanessa. As the trip would cost a considerable amount of money, Hippolyta then directed her to a known contact inside Athens; an Amazon who had grown weary of Paradise, Orithia had traveled to Man's World thirty years earlier where she lived as a mortal and discreetly watched over the many financial accounts Themyscira had set up decades earlier for their rare ventures into Patriarch's World. At the now aged Orithia's urging, Hippolyta upgraded their tickets to something called first class.

The flying conveyance – an airplane, Julia called it – carried them into the sky, which Hippolyta would have marveled at any other time but her concern over Diana, over Donna, over Phillipus and the other Amazons gnawed at her belly. She drank too much of the offered alcohol, though it was weak stuff, barely worth using as even medicinal cleansing, and found her appetite was absent. When they landed some four hours later, she was distraught to learn this was but the first leg of the trip and the rest would take another eight hours.

Her sleep during this second flight was fitful and unsatisfying. The dreams Morpheus visited upon her were dark and terrible, of Diana subjugated by the hateful Ares now that he usurped his father's crown, or of the same depredations being visited upon young Donna who was blossoming into the same beauty as Diana, or loyal and much-loved Phillipus breaking under the lord of slaughter. Twice, she jolted awake, very nearly convinced that Ares had unleashed Deimos and Phobos upon them, but Julia calmed her fears with the revelation that the storm over Greece was still raging. Hippolyta took great comfort in the knowledge that Poseidon refused to yield – in his honor, she would personally see that a great temple be erected in his honor, one much larger and more elaborate than the shrine he currently possessed.

It was dark when they landed in Gotham, but even the air had a dark and sinister smell to it. Men and women alike eyed them as they departed the airport, and Hippolyta could not tell which of them seemed more dangerous. Julia arranged for them to be taken to a place where they could sleep – Kapatelis was visibly exhausted, but Hippolyta could feel the too familiar sensation of a hunt drawing to a close. She pointed to a great symbol of light being projected onto a towering building of glass and metal.

It was a symbol of a bat.

"There!" she exclaimed. "What is that?"

"That's the Bat Signal, Lady," the driver of this conveyance said. His English was slurred and difficult to comprehend. "The police usually just light it when one of the crazies are loose." He offered a yellow-toothed smile. "That generally means a bunch of mooks are going to have a really bad night."

"Take me to it," Hippolyta demanded. When he started to protest, she thrust a handful of the paper currency Julia said was so precious in this world. "Take me there now."

The driver obeyed.

_"It's a police station," _Julia identified in Greek when they arrived and exited the foul-smelling yellow vehicle. The light had long since gone out, but Hippolyta guessed it was stored upon the rooftop. _"They won't let us in," _she added. Hippolyta frowned.

"Police." The word was close enough to the Greek πολιτεία that she recognized the intent. _"We shall say nothing to them then."_

Once inside, she directed Julia to seek a place of safety before setting off for the roof. Accessing it turned out to be less difficult than she anticipated – first, she used the stairs to reach the topmost floor where she quickly found the door to the roof was tightly secured. This led her to stealthily maneuvering through the upper floor, seeking an unattended and open door. From there, she simply climbed through a window and ascended the last few feet by hand.

The source of the great light was immediately obvious – a large, round device with a bat emblem secured to the clear surface. She hunted around for the activation lever or device, but could not find it. Frustration boiled in her belly.

"The roof is off limits, ma'am," a stern voice declared. She whirled and found herself looking at three men, two of which were dressed in the blue uniform she had seen so much of. The third was more comfortably attired, with a brown long coat and clothes that looked to have been recently slept in. He was unshaven and the mustache adorning his upper lip was peppered with white. Thick spectacles covered his eyes. More importantly, he wore authority and control like a prince.

"If you know a quicker way to summon this … Bat-Man of yours," Hippolyta replied sharply, "then speak now! I have need of his counsel at once!" The two men in blue exchanged a look – she recognized its unspoken meaning, that she sounded like a madwoman – and, as one, dropped their hands to the weapons holstered at their sides. Hippolyta stiffened at the threat and allowed her arms to relax. The bracers shifted slightly against her skin and she drew breath in preparation for battle.

But the mustached man did not issue the order to attack. Instead, his eyes flickered to her arms and he frowned.

"Commissioner?" one of the blue-garbed men asked, but he shook his head.

"I've seen those kinds of bracelets before," he said softly, his voice clearly not intended for Hippolyta's ears. "My name is Jim Gordon," he continued in a louder voice.

"Well met, Jim Gordon. I am Hippolyta." She frowned. "How do you operate this device?" she asked. "How do you summon this Bat-Man?" Gordon smirked.

"I already did."

Hippolyta frowned. She opened her mouth to comment, but suddenly sensed a shadowy presence to her right that had not been there before. Moving quickly, she half spun, instinctively bringing up her bracers to ward off any impending attack. The horned shadow did not move from where it was perched and, when it spoke, its voice was dark, raspy and not entirely human.

"Hippolyta," it growled. "Queen of Themyscira and regent of the two tribes." The shadow tilted its head toward Jim Gordon. "I'll handle this." Gordon turned away, shaking his head and muttering something under his breath, but Hippolyta kept her eyes on the black shape. He moved closer, resolving into a man wearing blackened armor and a dark cloak. "I'm presuming there's a reason why you're in Gotham," he rasped.

"Ares," she said sharply. "He has taken Zeus's thunderbolt, seized his crown … and my Amazons are once more prisoners to his madness." The dark figure stiffened.

"Diana?" he asked.

"Taken," Hippolyta growled. "I sought the means to help my tribes but the Oracles gave me nothing more than a useless riddle!" Fear weakened her legs – Diana had been in Ares' hands for three days, perhaps four now. Hippolyta wanted to scream.

"What riddle?" the Bat-Man asked. Every line in his body betrayed his concern. He held up his hand before she could speak. "They gave it to you in Greek?" he asked. Hippolyta looked at him – what kind of foolish question was that? Of course they did! – and nodded. "Then don't translate. Let me hear it exactly as they told you." She felt a hot flash of self-disgust flood through her then. His logic was faultless. English was far from her first language and some of the nuances … Hippolyta shook her head, cleared her thoughts, and began to speak.

"_Hear your fate, O dwellers in Themyscira of green leaves," _she recited,

_"When your famed, great town is sacked by Zeus' ruin, _

_"Then must she who wears the crown on troubled brow, _

_"Seek out the wisdom of bats to point the way, _

_"For not the strength of lions or of bulls shall hold the bane, _

_"Strength against strength; for he holds the power of Zeus, _

_"And will not be checked until the voice of the One God stands on Olympus high._"

The Bat-Man was silent for such a long moment that Hippolyta almost wondered if she would need to repeat the prophecy. Finally, he grunted.

"Similar phrasing to what the Spartans received prior to Thermopylae," he growled. "Voice of the One God … " Abruptly, he stiffened, snapping his head around to pin Hippolyta with his white eyes. "How reliable is this … prophecy?" he demanded.

"It came from Apollo's own Oracles," she retorted. Hope, long since forgotten, burned in her chest. He had guessed something. With a flick of his cape, he extracted something from his belt and brought to his lips.

"It's me," he said into it. "I need you in Gotham immediately." There was a crackle – evidently, this Bat-Man heard something she did not because he spoke again. "It's about Diana." The crackle happened again and he lowered his arm.

"You have summoned someone," Hippolyta said eagerly, forgetting for a moment that he was a Man. "Who?"

"The Voice of God," he replied wryly. A distant boom echoed over the city and a streak of light falling from the sky drew her attention. Heat boiled off the new arrival as he came to a sudden and complete stop just above the roof. His distinctive crest drew Hippolyta's eye and she glanced up.

Superman.

He was taller than she expected, with a broad chest, powerful arms and a face that she recognized as being quite appealing. The blue garment he wore appeared to be some form of armor, though if half of what Diana had said of him was true, she could not understand why he would need it. His eyes were the same startling blue that his cousin's were and they widened as soon as he saw her. She froze at the very rapid eye flick he gave her – from face, to arms to the uncomfortable clothes Julia had foisted upon her – but his gaze quickly sought hers again.

"Queen Hippolyta?" he guessed, eyes flickering back and forth between her and this Bat-Man. "If this is about Kara, she should be back on the Earth next week." Hippolyta hesitated – Hera, could this have been prevented if she withheld her permission for Kara Zor-El to visit her dead world with the Green Lantern John Stewart? – but the Bat-Man spoke into the brief silence.

"It's Ares," he rasped. The Kryptonian – Kal-El, Hippolyta reminded herself before suddenly realizing what the Bat-Man had noticed. Was it truly that simple? She wanted to howl at her oversight – gave his dark-clad ally a sour look. The Bat-Man did something underneath his cape and, when he spoke again, he sounded like a normal man. "He's taken over Olympus."

"He seized Zeus' thunderbolt and usurped his father," Hippolyta said quickly. Kal-El blinked.

"Okay," he started to say, his expression indicating hesitant disbelief. Hippolyta wanted to shake him – Diana often had commented with equal parts amusement and annoyance about this man's continuing disbelief in magic.

"He has Diana." The Bat-Man's pronouncement caused an instant reaction – Kal-El stiffened and his expression darkened rapidly.

"I see." His voice was a low, angry rumble, like that of an oncoming storm, and the skin underneath his eyes darkened to a reddish color. "Tell me everything," he ordered, his voice brooking no dissent.

So Hippolyta obeyed.

She told them how unprepared Themyscira was when the first lightning bolts fell from the sky, how Ares' inhuman forces fell upon their defenses and obliterated them, how fully half the Bana-Mighdall never answered the call to arms, though she knew not whether that was because they were traitors or if they were already slain. Diana's fearless defense against the creatures of fear and terror she spoke of, and how Zeus' thunderbolts dashed her to the ground where the foul creatures bound her in unbreakable chains. Artemis of the Bana-Mighdall had rallied to her princess' side, though that was no surprise as she was ever the most loyal to Diana, but she too was overpowered and bound. Hippolyta spoke only briefly of Donna's capture or of brave Phillipus' sacrifice – if she was alive or dead, Hippolyta knew not – to free the queen from her own torture and bondage. She only briefly spoke of the travails she faced in her efforts to reach Apollo's Oracles who gave her a riddle, and then Hermes snatching her away before he cast her into the sea.

And during her quickly spoken tale, she could not help but to observe the effect her words had upon these two males. They exchanged a single look early on and the rage on their faces grew with each world. The Bat-Man she could only read by his lips, and his constant opening and closing of his fists, but Kal-El … his features were easily deciphered. Hippolyta had seen this look many times before.

He was in a killing mood.

"How do we get to Olympus?" he asked in a very low, very dangerous voice. The Bat-Man was watching him and making no attempt to hide it.

"Clark," the dark-clad man said but Kal-El silenced him with a glare.

"Shut up," he snapped. "This is Diana. She'd walk through fire for us. I'll be damned if I won't do the same for her." He returned his cold blue eyes to Hippolyta and she held out the totem she'd barely put down since she received it.

"Hermes said I could use this," she said. Her skin crawled at the thought of what she had to say next. "You will need to touch me when I invoke its magics." Kal-El did so at once – merciful Hera, his skin was hot! – but so did the Bat-Man. Hippolyta thrust aside the nausea swimming in her stomach and instead focused on her need. Mount Olympus. She _needed _to be there alongside these men.

Something unseen tugged at her. It burned and froze and healed, all at the same time, and she let it surround her, envelop her, _become _her. She was certain that, for a heartbeat, she could almost hear Hermes' soft laugh.

And then, the world exploded around them.

/-\

Her vision cleared long before her ears stopped ringing.

They had materialized within a massive throne room, decorated by elaborate statues and marble friezes that, somehow, moved. Dominating the center of this chamber was an elaborate globe that looked exactly like the world of men, albeit on a much smaller scale. The small planet slowly revolved in place, with cloud cover obscuring some parts of it and leaving other places open to view.

A ring of high-backed seats circled the globe, but most of them were not occupied. Instead, the Olympians who should have been sitting proudly were chained to the floor, on their knees, many bearing physical injuries and other signs of abuse. At a glance, Hippolyta recognized them immediately: Apollo, Athena still wearing her golden, face-concealing helmet, Hephaestus, Hermes, and even Hera. Hephaestus especially looked to have singled out for great pain – his already deformed leg was bent back in a direction nature had never intended for it to bend and his face was barely recognizable underneath the bruises and cuts. Notable in their absence were both Hades and Poseidon.

But all of this, Hippolyta saw without truly comprehending. Her eyes were locked upon the three kneeling forms next to the massive throne that sat upon a raised dais. Two of them were female, one was almost certainly Zeus himself, but none of them were clothed. She barely recognized Diana underneath the golden chains that hid some of the bruises and cuts, but the other woman, who had suffered even greater was undeniably Aphrodite. Rage trembled in Hippolyta's heart, rage and fear, but she was frozen in place, unable to move as Ares slowly rose from where his lounged in his father's chair.

His armor glittered and danced in the light thrown off by brilliant Apollo, and he was not wearing a helmet for a change, revealing the cruel face of a boy only just into adulthood. Malice gleamed in his eyes and, when he smiled, lightning crawled down his arms and enveloped his hands.

"What is this?" he demanded in a voice that echoed like thunder. "Mortals in Olympus unsummoned?" With a casual gesture, he sent a bolt of lightning flashing toward Hermes. Held down by restraints, the god could not dodge and caught the blast full on the chest. He shrieked as his muscles twitched and shuddered. "I know this is your doing, Brother," Ares snarled.

"Enough." Kal-El rose from the floor, his hands clenched tightly as he glared at Ares. His feet did not touch the ground as he began floating toward Ares who looked at him with surprise.

And then laughed.

"Is this the best you can do?" he roared. "_This _is the Champion you choose?" He shifted his cruel eyes to Hippolyta. "A man," he said with a black smile. "You sought out a _Man_ to fight for you."

"My name," the Kryptonian said in a flat, unemotional voice, "is Kal-El." The skin around his eyes began to turn red. "In Hebrew," he continued through clenched teeth, "it means _Voice _of God." Ares recoiled slightly – Hippolyta took that as proof he knew what the Oracles had said – but sneered.

"Well, then, Kryptonian," the god of war said as he raised his hands and summoned his father's thunderbolt, "let us see-"

He never finished his threat.

In mid-sentence, Kal-El blurred forward, slamming into Ares with a titanic boom that shook the entire throne room and carried them both through the marble wall. They disappeared from sight for a moment, but then, the Kryptonian tumbled back, lightning dancing up and down his body. He did not cry out, but instead, focused his eyes on the laughing Ares. Heat boiled out of his eyes, carving a lethal gouge into the god of war's armor. This time, it was Ares who cried out in pain and surprise, but Kal-El flashed forward once more, his hands moving so fast they seemed to be a solid wall of motion. He struck, again and again and again, each blow shaking the throne room. At no time did the burning light from his eyes cease and Ares staggered back from the onslaught.

But Hippolyta knew it would not be enough.

As the god of war, Ares was simply too great, too powerful to be defeated by a mere man, no matter the world of his birth. This man, this _Superman _would fall. She did not care, though – as long as Ares was occupied long enough for her to rescue Diana, the entire world could burn. Without a word, she sprinted forward, kneeling before her battered daughter and fumbling with the golden chains wrapped around her. Pain stabbed through her body as she touched the metallic links and she snatched back her fingers. She tried once more, pushing aside the resulting agony as the enchanted links resisted all efforts to be moved. Despair started to set in and she looked around for something, anything that might help her.

Instead, she found the Bat-Man.

He was on the far side of the throne room, kneeling before the shackled Apollo and whispering urgently while pointing the direction of the fight still taking place. To Hippolyta's surprise, the god of the sun smiled and quickly nodded, to which the Bat-Man backpedaled away quickly, raising his dark cape to cover his face. Hippolyta did not know why … but a moment later, cried out in surprise.

For Apollo, god of light, began to glow.

It was as if the sun itself had visited Olympus, and Hippolyta quickly shielded her eyes. She did not understand why the Bat-Man had urged this, but returning her gaze to the fight, she began to comprehend.

Ares' armor hung off his body in shattered scraps, dented and scorched alike, but still, Kal-El attacked. With each moment, he seemed to grow stronger, more powerful, faster … and angrier. Even Ares' counter-strikes of lightning or weapon seemed incapable of slowing the Kryptonian down. He batted aside wild sword blows, slid out of the way of lightning blasts or simply took them upon the chest without blinking as he continued to strike. His own armor suffered nearly as much damage as Ares', with great chunks of it torn free and smoking, but Hippolyta could see the skin underneath heal from any wounds inflicted almost instantly. The sun. It was making him stronger.

Ares was not as fortunate.

With vicious brutality, Kal-El unleashed a terrifying wrath upon the god of war. He battered Ares mercilessly, throwing him into walls with such force that godly-crafted marble shattered, and then followed up with blurring punches and kicks that came on at impossible speeds. The heat from his eyes ignited Ares' hair and scorched flesh, but still, he came on, dodging and parrying the god's counterblows with startling speed and moves Hippolyta recognized as coming from Amazon training.

Weak lightning splashed against Kal-El's sigil as Ares steadily weakened until finally, the Kryptonian's hand darted out and seized the god of war by the throat. He slammed Ares into a wall – it buckled and trembled under the impact – and held him there with a grip of iron. The electricity crawling around the god's arms flickered and faded, before flashing across the throne room where it enveloped the shackled Zeus. With a roar, the father of the gods rose to his feet as his power flooded back into him. His chains broke apart with a thunderclap.

"Enough!" he bellowed, his words an ironic echo to Kal-El's colder declaration moments earlier. With an almost casual gesture, Zeus sent streaks of lightning toward the other imprisoned Olympians – like a living thing, it crawled and danced, shattering the locks and chains holding them down. Those that could – Apollo, Athena, Hera – rose, and Zeus turned his eyes briefly upon Hippolyta. She felt the heat of his gaze but refused to look from where she held onto Diana's hand. "He is beaten, Kryptonian," Zeus thundered. "Release him."

"Why?" Kal-El's response was low and hard. He had not budged from where he stood, holding the barely conscious god of war against the cracked marble wall. "He'll just keep doing this, over and over and over, until he wins." There was a knowing tone to his voice and the Kryptonian narrowed his eyes. "Or you kill him."

"Kal-El." Strangely, it was Athena who spoke. The grey-eyed lady strode forward, her features still hidden behind her golden helmet. Only her eyes could be seen. When she spoke again, it was in a tongue Hippolyta knew not. Her words instantly caused Kal-El's head to snap around – he narrowed his already suspicious eyes and stared at Athena. She spoke … but he did not budge.

"Kal," Diana murmured softly. The chains that had been holding her were gone, dissolving into dust. She clung to Hippolyta but stared at the Kryptonian through swollen eyes. "Please."

For a moment, he did not react. He stared at Ares, his arm unmoving as he held the god of war by the throat. Finally, he inhaled.

"Listen to me, you piece of crap," he said in a voice that could crack ice. "If you touch her again, if you touch _any _of them again, I will _end _you." With a mighty heave, he hurled Ares toward the ground in front of Zeus – stone cracked under the impact. The Kryptonian glared once more at the unmoving god of war before floating toward Hippolyta. He did something to his gauntlet which promptly released his scarlet cape. Without a word, he knelt beside Hippolyta and offered the garment to cover Diana. "She needs immediate medical attention," he began.

/-\

Events happened quickly then and it was only later, when she was no longer fully focused on Diana that some of the more worrisome elements came to mind.

First, Zeus convened a quick summit of the Olympians present – only Apollo ignored him as he attended to the wounded; Hephaestus, the most badly injured, refused to be healed until Aphrodite's pains were eased, a gesture that did not go unnoticed by the goddess of love, though at the time, Hippolyta did not even realize what had happened. When Apollo touched Diana with his glowing hands, the bruises and cuts faded away, and she exhaled deeply before sliding into a deep sleep.

"She will sleep for a time," the god of the sun said before he moved on. Hippolyta almost sobbed with relief and clung to her daughter with tight arms. She would live. She was safe. By the Fates, Diana was safe.

"For crimes against this throne," Zeus rumbled some time later, "you are stripped of your birthright and banished to Tartarus for all of time." Ares tried to reply, but his jaw was broken and Zeus paid him no mind. Instead, he placed his hand, surging with electricity, upon the god of war's chest. Light flashed then, so bright that it blinded, and when he withdrew his hand, Zeus seemed even greater than before. "Take him hence, Hermes," The god of boundaries touched the barely moving Ares and both vanished with a soft pop.

Zeus then turned to other matters, other crimes. Hippolyta herself stood accused of breaking a great law, of bringing mortals to Olympus itself, but many of the other gods spoke up for her. The Kryptonian was barely mortal, Hera declared, and thus did not count. Athena countered by declaring the Bat-Man was descended from wily Telemachus, sired by the mighty Odysseus, who was himself a descendant of Aeolus; had he chosen the totem of an owl, she said, she would claim him as her own. At that very moment, Hermes returned and claimed distant kinship by that same lineage, a fact which visibly disturbed the Bat-Man greatly. Apollo raised the stakes by declaring he would openly stand against Zeus should the Thunderer chose to punish Hippolyta or the mortals she had brought to their salvation.

"And I would have a mighty weapon at my disposal should the need call for it," Apollo concluded, flashing brightly just long enough to remind everyone how powerful his assistance had made Kal-El.

And through it all, the Kryptonian was an unmoving, silent guardian who stood between Diana and the Olympians, as if he meant to throw them down as well. It was … he was …

He was _terrifying_.

How would anyone, even Diana, be able to stop him when he went insane with power? The gods themselves feared him, though they cloaked it in terms they hoped would hide their cowardice, and after what she had seen, Hippolyta understood that fear. Herakles, at his worst, would not slow this potential monster down for more than a short time. And Diana claimed to be his _friend._ Hippolyta shivered, but held her tongue and swallowed her terror. He was the starving tiger she rode into a battle she could not have otherwise won; as long as she could aim him toward her enemies, she might be safe. Perhaps that was why Diana befriended him? No, her daughter was too honest to do such a thing.

She was never happier than when Hermes returned her and Diana to Themyscira with a further promise to begin returning the captive Amazons, hidden away by Ares but easily accessible to him. The Kryptonian and the Bat-Man were in attendance when Hermes translocated them from Olympus to her home, but Kal-El held onto his dark-clad ally and they both hovered a solid foot above the green grass.

"I know your law, Highness," he said simply when she looked at him. "No men may walk the ground of Themyscira."

Hermes took them away then, after the Bat-Man provided her with a speaking device that would allow her to communicate with the Justice League and keep them apprised of Diana's condition, and, for a time, the island was empty save she and her daughter. Alone, finally safe, her composure cracked and she wept, letting all of the fear and pain and misery drain away. Her daughter would live. By the gods, her daughter would live!

Diana slumbered for nearly a week, barely moving, barely breathing. Over that time, Hermes appeared sporadically, each time bringing with him more of the displaced or abused Amazons. Some, like Donna and Artemis alike, were filled with fury and rage over what had been done to them, but most simply accepted it for what it was, another instance where the gods were cruel and petty. Those wounded – Phillipus, for example, and Hippolyta was nearly undone with relief at seeing her still alive – recovered, but there were many slain to be given the final rites. The day after the first of these funeral pyres, the Nereides appeared with new daughters, children who would have been lost in Poseidon's watery grasp. They were orphans all, infants and toddlers, and would be raised as Amazons. Some believed their lost lovers had been reborn in the bodies of these infants, others wept at the loss of their spirits, but all rejoiced at the new children. Soon, Themyscira was once again filled with joy and laughter.

Somehow, the tale of what had transpired and Ares' punishment became known throughout the island and it brought greater change than Hippolyta could have ever expected. Women who had thrived on their misandry – the warrior Daphne, or Faruka whose hatred of men was eclipsed only by her love of pears – openly and publicly wondered how they could honor this … Superman. He had saved them from further abuse and rape, and defeating Ares? Why even Herakles could not manage such a task! Murmured questions became open debate, and with each suggestion, Hippolyta cringed. Could they not see the danger here? Herakles had seemed trustworthy at first and they were still suffering from that miscalculation. This Kryptonian, this Kal-El was potentially more terrifying than ten Herakles!

Time passed. The question of honoring Kal-El continued to simmer but never became a truly important issue as Hippolyta refused to acknowledge it. Diana woke, rejoiced in her sisters' freedom, and then returned once more to Man's World to resume her hopeless task to 'wage peace.' She would return briefly, bringing with her to visit Julia Kapatelis, to whom they owed so much. Donna resumed her studies, still gathering a rapt Bana-Mighdall retinue who hung on her every word. Kara Zor-El returned from her visit to the stars and her lost homeworld. She was more subdued now, less prone to hysterics or spoiled tantrums, and began to embrace the lessons in a strange, analytical method devoid of much passion. She rarely wore her Kryptonian sigil, which suited Hippolyta fine – at some point, the strange notion of molding the girl into a defensive weapon against a potential onslaught by Kal-El occurred to her and, try as she might, Hippolyta could not shake it. At no time did she truly act upon it beyond a few leading remarks or subtle hints intended to more firmly align the girl with Amazonian tenets. Life resumed normalcy.

But even with this, even with the discovery that the Bana-Mighdall had not betrayed them and had been instead deceived and harmed themselves by Circe before Pallas-Athena located and rescued them, Hippolyta could not forget the terrible specter of Kal-El holding Ares by the throat.

"If you touch her again," he had snarled, "if you touch _any _of them again, I will _end _you." Did that mean he thought of Diana and, by default, the Amazons as his now? All of them owed him a debt … but what would he expect in payment? How long would it be before he came, demanding their obedience? Hippolyta shivered.

"Are you well?" The question caught her by surprise and she nearly sprang up, but just as quickly, turned her defensive stance into a kneel as she caught sight of the golden helmet. Pallas Athena stood calmly by the archway of her chambers that opened up to the sea. Once more, she was clothed in sparkling mail or clothes that doubled as armor, and her eyes, still the only feature Hippolyta could see, appeared content.

"Forgive me, my lady," Hippolyta began, but Athena waved it off.

"There is nothing to forgive," she said. To her surprise, Athena then removed her concealing helmet. Golden hair fell down her back, but it was her face that gave Hippolyta pause, for she had seen this woman before. Or rather, she had seen a young Kryptonian girl who would grow into a face much like this one. Athena gave her a soft, knowing smile but did not explain the resemblance.

"You have endured much in the name of the Olympians," she said simply, "and I am loath to ask for more, but I must charge you with a sacred task."

"Command me and I shall obey," Hippolyta replied through tight lips. Her emotions were still too raw for proper respect, but she'd interacted with Athena enough to know the gray-eyed lady would forgive her.

"This helmet must be hidden away for a time," the goddess said. "Events have been set into motion and the Lords of Chaos would seek it out to slay him but Nabu is not yet ready to return." Hippolyta blinked. Nabu? She did not know that name. Athena smiled as she looked at it. "He and I … we have long been old allies, but it is time for us to part ways." It might have been Hippolyta's imagination, but she could swear the empty eye slits of the helmet flashed briefly. "When his time returns, Nabu will make it known." She held out the golden helmet and Hippolyta hesitantly accepted it.

Ice filled her veins the instant her fingers touched the metal … if it _was _metal. There was a presence, an immensely powerful sense of … something lurking just out of sight and she felt a staggering sensation of disapproval. Her island had fallen into Chaos and needed to be righted. For a heartbeat, the urge to don the helmet came to her, but it faded, as if it were the action of a weakened woman summoning her strength after a long illness but finding it inadequate. Hippolyta tore her eyes away from the helmet.

But Athena was gone.

And the helmet … the helmet was just empty metal once more.

Hippolyta shivered.

* * *

**A/N #2: **I've always wondered why the comics never did something like this in regards to Kal & someone like Dr. Light. I mean, pump him up with even more power than before and let him rock...

Re: Athena. Yes. What you're thinking is probably correct.


	7. Year Seven: Bridges

**Year Seven: Bridges**

**Author's Note: **Holy crap, this story is getting long.

* * *

**Supreme Court Refuses to Hear Luthor Appeal**

_Published November 3, 2019 / James Olsen_

METROPOLIS, N.Y. – Death inched closer to Alexander Luthor on Tuesday, when the U.S. Supreme Court rejected the best legal chance the convicted murderer had left to avoid execution.

Luthor was sentenced to die for killing thirty-six people two years ago in Denver, although the former CEO of LexCorp insists he was framed by Superman.

In a list of unsigned orders issued Tuesday, the nation's highest court said it would not hear the last appeal Luthor is legally guaranteed, bringing an end to a very quick appellate process and clearing the way for an execution date to be set. Luthor, 48, may file further appeals, but they are not certain to delay his execution by much time.

**Click for more from Daily Planet Online**

/-\

IT WAS THE ONE SENTENCE NO MAN EVER WANTED TO HEAR.

"We need to talk."

The previous times he'd heard this – from Lana in his senior year of high school, from Lori in college, from Chrissy when he was on walkabout – Clark had been caught completely by surprise. In each case, it was followed quickly by the 'it's not you, it's me' explanation, even though he knew that, no matter what they said, it _was _him. He was the weirdo, the freak who was so afraid of losing control that he was hesitant about initiating anything resembling physical intimacy, the guy who always had an excuse why they needed to wait, the strange one who just didn't fit in. With Lois, he'd almost thought they had avoided the issue thanks to her knowing about his otherworldly origins from day one, but, as time passed and he grew more powerful from constant exposure to the sun, their relationship suffered. Even before the incident with Ares and the subsequent super-charge by Apollo, though, he'd almost been afraid to touch her.

As much as he wanted to blame their lack of physical intimacy for this, though, the truth of the matter was they'd been drifting apart for a while now. Their respective jobs certainly did not help – everyone knew Lois was Perry's heir apparent, even Lombard who wanted the position so bad it hurt, and Clark was spending more time in the cape than he wasn't. Long ago, they'd agreed to avoid discussing politics – though she hid it really well, Lois actually did believe in a benevolent and helpful government, while Clark trended more toward the libertarian stand on things thanks to his parents, both of whom were rather vocal about their desire to just be left alone – and Lois was almost contemptuous toward football, which Clark still thought to be the greatest game on the planet, even with all the wussification rules that had been forced onto it. Hell, he'd gone to more games with Bruce or Diana than he had with her … what kind of American didn't want to go to the Super Bowl? And their tastes in music? That was best left untouched – she'd agreed that as long as he didn't play Johnny Cash in her presence, she would avoid inflicting that urban hip-hop stuff on him. Food was another thing they argued over – she lived on fast food and takeout, while his travels after his dad's passing had given him a newfound appreciation for home-cooked meals.

But the biggest point of contention between them was children. He wanted them, she didn't.

"I'm not mother material," Lois had insisted each time he brought up the idea of them adopting down the road. Oh, there was never any thought of them actually having a child together, not with the fundamental differences in biology; as far as he could tell, based on genetics alone, the only person on the planet who could bear his child was Kara and even it wasn't creepy as hell, it wasn't remotely an option. He'd hoped that, with enough time, Lois would change her mind but if anything, she'd only hardened in her resolve to _not_ be a mother. Her sister's daughter only cemented her theory and, as much as he hated to, Clark had to admit she _was_ pretty incompetent when it came to little Lacey…

So here they were, alone in her apartment for what would very likely be the last time.

"We need to talk," Lois repeated. She looked as uncomfortable as he felt, but Clark smiled.

"No, we don't," he replied. "You think we should see other people." Lois' expression crumpled and she collapsed onto her couch.

"I'm sorry," she started, but Clark knelt in front of her, a sad smile on his face.

"I think we both knew this was coming," he said.

"I feel awful," Lois mumbled. "You deserve someone who can love you for _you,_ not … that." She punctuated her statement by touching the House of El sigil on his chest. Clark smiled again – in the last couple of months as they tried to work through their problems, she'd been quite vocal about her self-disgust that she was attracted more to the _super_ than to man. He didn't hold it against her, not with his growing realization that he was drawn more to the ideal she represented than anything else.

"And you deserve some idiot who thinks that golf is actually a sport," he replied lightly. Despite the situation, Lois laughed out loud. Without warning, she threw herself forward and wrapped both arms around him. He suspected she was hugging him as tightly as possible … but he barely even felt anything.

"I don't want to lose my best friend," she whispered. Clark smiled.

"You won't." With exaggerated caution, he returned the hug. "I'll always be around."

He left a little bit later after promising to have dinner with her this weekend. To his surprise, he wasn't sad or angry or even confused. In fact, all he felt was a sense of relief. He still loved Lois – he counted her as one of his closest friends, on the same level as Diana and Bruce – but he wasn't _in _love with her and probably hadn't been for a long time. They were just too different in all the ways that really mattered and, for some stupid reason, he'd been feeling like he was holding her back somehow. He knew it was a dumb thought, but just couldn't shake it.

What did bother him, though, was how … isolated he was becoming from humanity in general. Most of his close friends were metas – or close enough in Bruce's case; Clark knew walking nuclear reactors and men with wishing rings who were afraid of the scary man from Gotham who didn't have powers – and now, he was once again alone in the world. He shook his head – that wasn't entirely true, was it? He had family now, even if it wasn't quite the kind he'd dreamed about. And if Kara's theories were correct about their longevity under a yellow sun, they would be family for a very long time. Would it be enough in two hundred years when everyone he knew was long gone? What about five hundred, when they were all dust? Sometimes, he dreamed of standing in an endless graveyard, each headstone representing someone he knew who had died of old age. Already, he could see it coming true – he was a few months away from hitting his fortieth birthday (or at least the day his parents chose to celebrate as his birthday; for all he knew, he might have already passed that mark) and he looked almost exactly the same as he had since hit twenty-five. Pretty much everyone he knew was getting older and he was standing still.

Never before had Clark felt this lonely.

He knew it was stupid to feel that way – life had a strange way of changing everything when he wasn't looking and just thinking about the future always made his head hurt; curiously, it also made the ring finger of his right hand tickle, but it had done that since he was a teenager and he still didn't know why – but man, sometimes it was hard to see the bright side of things at moments like this. Everyone expected him to be the Man of Steel, with a ready smile and enough power to shatter planets but the wisdom to not abuse it. None of them seemed to care that he wanted the same thing everyone else did as long as he was there when the sky was falling.

Clark sighed. And pushed the thoughts away. There would be time to feel sorry for himself later. Right now, he had work to do.

A few hours later, after he dealt with a runaway winged dinosaur-dragon thing in Russia and a mid-air emergency involving a 747 out of Australia – two of the engines failed and the pilots nearly panicked when the third started showing signs of going out too – he dropped out of the sky and landed lightly on the property that had once belonged to his parents. One of the very first things he'd done with the money earned from the medical breakthroughs thanks to his Kryptonian studies was to pay off the back taxes; he'd even bought out the surrounding farms which had been mostly abandoned. He'd reinvested a lot of capital into the Smallville economy by hiring locals to handle the day labor and it wasn't like it took him much time to actually do the work if no one else was available. Besides, the extra space gave him a little privacy Metropolis didn't afford him and also gave him the chance to experiment with some new farming methods stolen (although he preferred the term 'borrowed') from the Amazons. The smell of something burning made him smirk as he opened the front door and entered. Kara glared at him from the kitchen.

"This would be easier if you allowed me to install-"

"No," Clark interrupted firmly. "My house, my rules." He smiled at her foul expression. "I'm not making you use your heat vision to cook that … whatever it is," he pointed out. "There's a perfectly good oven sitting there."

"The princess insists that I use my abilities until they are second-nature," Kara replied. Her instinctive use of Diana's title made Clark smirk; he didn't know what the Amazon had done to beat sense into his cousin, but it had worked fairly well. He honestly didn't think he'd ever heard her use Diana's actual name – it was always 'the princess' this and 'the princess' that. Kara rubbed her temples. "I still do not have the fine control of my vision abilities that you do." Abruptly, she frowned. "I thought you were visiting that Lois person tonight." The distaste in her voice was palpable and Clark nearly winced. Evidently, she'd still not forgiven a certain Daily Planet reporter for hanging the unfortunate sobriquet of Super_girl_ upon her. When she learned that Clark was romantically involved with Lois, things had become even more uncomfortable. For some reason, he had no desire to tell his cousin about the decision he and Lois had just made.

"Something came up," he said simply. "What exactly were you trying to cook anyway?" Kara blushed.

"Pancakes," she admitted softly. "Though my results have been less than optimal." Clark laughed.

"Here," he said with a grin. "Let me show you what you're doing wrong."

/-\

There was something going on with her cousin.

For the last week, ever since he had returned from Metropolis earlier than expected, he had been … different. Kara was unable to put her finger on what exactly it was that had changed about him, but something was undeniably altered. He still teased her in a way that seemed impossible for a boy who should have been, at best, three or four years old according to her sense of time, and still squandered his talents with this ridiculous Warrior guild charade in the hostile environment hard-suit, and even continued to waste time with this Clark Kent identity, but his smile was not quite as quick as before and he had a tendency to be more silent than she thought he should.

Her attempts to decipher the source of the change proved to be fruitless. Whether it was his continued friendship with that Bat character in Gotham or the thirty-plus years of hiding his true nature from humans, Kal-El quite successfully concealed whatever was consuming so much of his mental bandwidth. The plus to that, however, was his lack of attention to _her_ activities – he'd barely noticed when she quietly announced her intent to do some traveling now that the princess announced her martial skills were 'no longer completely hopeless.' With Kal-El not paying adequate attention, she'd snuck out so she could see this planet he was so obsessed with protecting.

Today was Fawcett City, the largest metropolitan settlement in the American northwestern state of Minnesota and, according to her internet studies, the home of the best cheesecake in the nation. There were other things she wished to investigate – the campus of the University of Minnesota, for example, as well as the various art museums since, according to her late father, a culture could be judged by the kind of art it displayed – but, if she were truly honest, it was the cheesecake that interested her the most. Krypton had nothing like it and she both cursed and thanked Kal-El for introducing her to it.

The large black sunglasses she wore covered a substantial portion of her face – where _did _Kal-El get those glasses he wore? – and her hair was mostly tucked under a wide-brimmed hat that was, according to the entertainment news, what girls her age wore this year, so Kara was not especially concerned about being identified. Her continued disinterest in acting like a Warrior continued to prevent the erroneously named Supergirl from gaining much notoriety, and that certainly helped her walk alongside humanity without causing the kinds of reactions her cousin or even the princess might.

"Double-slice caramel cheesecake up," the heavyset man with the expertly groomed beard announced from behind the counter of the ludicrously decorated pasty shop. Kara paid, using the credit card Kal-El had provided her, and then retreated to a corner table with her delicious prize. She was the only customer present at the moment, though that changed several moments later when a scruffy-looking, dark-haired boy entered. He was, by her reckoning, Donna's age or perhaps a little younger, and there was the same kind of hard-won weariness in his eyes. By the threadbare look of his clothes, he was likely destitute or at least severely impoverished, though that did not stop him from ordering a triple-slice of the same cheesecake Kara was enjoying.

"No charge, Billy," the bearded man said with a smile. When the boy started to frown, the older man continued. "Happy birthday, buddy."

"I don't want a handout," the young man said softly. A human would not be able to hear them from where she sat, but to Kara, they might as well have been shouting. By Rao, this planet was noisy.

"And I'm not offering you one." The bearded man pushed the cheesecake forward. "It's your birthday, son. You deserve something nice."

After some further grumbling, the boy grudgingly accepted the gift and took a seat at the nearest table. He ate slowly, alternately his attention between the food and Kara herself. Discomfort began to set in as his looks lasted longer, and Kara considered eating faster. She could finish this heavenly concoction and be gone before he began harassing her. That option vanished a moment later.

"Nobody move!" The would-be robber who burst through the door held his pistol at the ready and the desperation in his eyes was only a fraction less intense than the fear on the bearded man's face. Kara tensed fractionally – she was quite certain she could neutralize this quickly, but knowing how to fight and actually getting into fisticuffs were two entirely different matters. If she misjudged the force of a punch, she could easily kill this man. She glanced around for something else and her eyes fell on the dark-haired young man.

He hadn't moved.

In fact, he continued to eat as if there was not an armed gunman mere steps away from him, though it was quite obvious that he was aware of the criminal. The boy watched him steadily, chewing calmly and frowning. He swallowed.

"You've got to be kidding," he said simply. When the older man swung the pistol toward him, the boy placed his fork down on his table. "I mean, really … who robs a cheesecake store?"

"Shut up and put your wallet on the table!"

"Do I _look _like I've got a wallet?" The boy shook his head. "Come on, man. Things are tough for all of us, but this? This is just stupid." The criminal glared.

"If you don't shut up," he snarled, "I'm going to put a bullet between your eyes."

"You'd risk life in prison for a cheesecake store and a mouthy kid?" The dark-haired boy shook his head again. "Dude, you've lost your mind."

"I'm warning you!" The would-be shooter took a step closer.

"Think this through, man," the boy continued. "I know how rough things are right now but this _isn't_ the answer." Kara's eyes narrowed as she found a suitable way to neutralize this situation. With one more step, the criminal would be underneath one of the deactivated fans hanging from the ceiling by a fist-sized cable. By the sound of the stressors she could hear, the fan was of substantial weight and would serve her purpose perfectly. She grimaced – there was absolutely nothing more uncomfortable than doing this – and focused on the ever-present heat lurking just behind her eyes as she lowered her sunglasses. It was painful – Rao, it stung! – but she felt the brief spurt of fire flash from her eyes. It sliced through the cable holding the fan and, with a loud crash, the heavy thing fell, crashing into the would-be robber with a loud _thunk_. He collapsed with barely a sound though a quick scan of him assured Kara that he was still alive. She exhaled softly in relief.

Absolute silence reigned for a long moment. The bearded man behind the counter leaned forward, breathing heavily – his heart rate was too high for someone of his age and girth, though it was beginning to slow – but the dark-haired boy studied the fallen man, then glanced up to the ceiling. He frowned before carefully kicking the unconscious man's gun away.

"You better call the cops, Danny," he said. Very carefully, he glanced in Kara's direction, but he never spoke.

The law enforcement officers arrived soon after – Kara wanted to leave long before that, but this 'Linda Danvers' identity Kal-El had provided for her would not have done that, so she waited – and took their statements once they secured the criminal in a pair of wrist-cuffs. As soon as they gave her permission, Kara ducked out of the shop and fast-walked away.

To her concern, the boy followed.

She silently cursed herself for not being adequately familiar with the city layout as he somehow managed to keep her in sight at all times. Despite the cold air, there were more than enough citizens to make blurring to safety a bad idea, which also removed the option of flight. Finally, she turned down an alley and let the boy approach. He smiled.

"Hi," he said. "That was a neat trick," he said. "Does it hurt coming out of your eyes like that?" Icy shock washed through her and she used her perfect recall to remember the moment. His seat … oh, Rao … he had a perfect view of her reflection! She glowered …

And blurred forward to grab him by the throat.

He grunted when she thrust him back against the brick wall. Despite her fear and momentary anger, she was still careful not to injure him too terribly as she leaned forward and met his eyes.

"Give me one good reason why I should let you go," she hissed. Threats were not normally her style – Donna was clearly a very bad influence on her – but this fool had surprised her! He grinned.

"One reason?" he asked. "I can give you one word." His smile widened at her confusion and he looked up. "Shazam!" he shouted.

Lightning boomed overhead, even though it was a perfectly clear day, and a solid lance of light stabbed downward, enveloping the boy and throwing her back. Instinctively, Kara threw up her arms to defend herself – her ears were ringing and her vision danced – but nothing happened. She blinked the spots away and looked at the boy.

Or rather, she looked at the man standing where the boy had been. He stood silently, at least as tall as but even broader than Kal-El, with thick, meaty arms and clothes that had been completely transformed. A golden lightning bolt was emblazoned upon his chest and the scarlet of his shirt and pants was even brighter than the cape her cousin wore. His face was different as well, though it seemed obvious to her that he was still the same person, only aged by ten or fifteen years.

"I'm going to go out on a limb here," he said in a deep baritone, "and guess you're Superman's cousin?"

"Captain Marvel," she said with some surprise. "You're him." The big man offered his hand in a gesture she'd come to recognize.

"That's what they call me," he said softly as he glanced over his shoulder. No one was close enough to hear him, but several of them were pointing. "Welcome to Fawcett City." He was about to say something else when a distant siren of some sort began sounding. Without a word, he sprang up into the air, an annoyed look on his face.

And, after barely a second of consideration, Kara followed him, the hard-light hologram hiding her bodysuit falling -El would not hesitate to lend assistance and she would not shirk from his example.

They reached the source of the alarm in seconds – it was a lending institution with the name Wells Fargo prominently displayed in giant, golden letters and the moment they identified it, a trio of armed criminals rushed from inside, each carrying large bags. The lead man froze at the sight of them, and the second stumbled into him before following the direction of his gaze. Marvel grinned broadly as he floated in mid-air, crossing his arms over the prominent lightning bolt he wore. Kara slowed to a stop several meters to his left but kept her arms at her side so the House of El crest could easily be identified. All three of the criminals glanced toward a waiting car and Kara focused on the heat behind her eyes. Instantly, one of the vehicles' front tires burst apart and the driver's eyes widened.

"There are a number of ways this can go, guys," Captain Marvel said loudly. "One of them involves you being admitted to the hospital with broken bones, heavy bruising and a persistent ringing in your ears that just won't go away."

"Not to mention," Kara interjected, "second degree burns." She focused on the heat once more and a second tire blew. Marvel snapped his fingers.

"Right!" he exclaimed. "I'd forgotten about that!" He smiled again. "The other option," he continued, "involves handcuffs but no broken bones."

"How about you shut the hell up before I shoot this bitch," a new voice called out. A fifth robber pushed his hostage out of the bank, his pistol pushed harshly against his captive. Instantly, Kara tensed. She drifted away from Marvel, who had dropped his friendly smile and was instead watching the gunman with the intensity one dedicated to an especially dangerous animal. His entire body was poised and ready for action.

"And there's the jackass," the Captain said. His eyes flickered very briefly to Kara and he shifted slightly in the air, putting a little more distance between them. "I figure you've got about thirty seconds before this gets really ugly, man."

"Uglier than it already is?" The gunman pushed his hostage forward, sparing a brief glare at his compatriots who had already tossed aside their own firearms.

"Oh, yeah." Marvel glided a few inches forward but stopped moving the instant the gunman shoved the gun closer to the girl. "You have no idea how ugly this can get." He rolled his head, audibly cracking his neck with pops that were just shy of gunshots in terms of percussion. The criminal stared at him, visibly torn between fear and awe. He barely seemed to notice that Marvel had slid another foot away from Kara, or that she was still drifting closer to the bank itself. By her calculations, the man's peripheral vision was inadequate to watch them both and Marvel was doing an exceptional job of drawing attention to himself. "Now," the Captain said with a smile that didn't touch his eyes, "I'm going to give you _one reason_ how this could end up badly." Kara blinked at the strange emphasis in his words, then quickly deciphered his meaning. Her estimation of his mental faculties increased – they had only just met and already he was capable of speaking to her in a shorthand the criminal could not comprehend. "And that reason is … Supergirl."

Kara _blurred._

The criminal inexplicably tried to wheel his firearm toward her – as if this primitive weapon would do more than tickle – but was clearly unprepared for just how fast a Kryptonian could move under a yellow sun. By the time he registered her presence, she had already gripped the barrel of the firearm and squeezed, crumpling the metal into useless slag. Just to make sure the weapon was rendered completely useless, she tugged it away from him, her far superior strength causing him to stumble toward her while losing his hold on his hostage. Captain Marvel was there in an instant – like her, he blurred forward, almost seeming to teleport from one location to the next – and he casually steadied the terrified girl with one hand while dropping the other on the criminal. There was no way the man would be going anywhere.

"I did warn you," he said as the criminal stared in horror at the mangled mess Kara left of his pistol.

A phalanx of law enforcement personnel swarmed the bank within moments, but the would-be robbers were already face down and waiting. The authorities seemed to know Marvel from the way they greeted him – Kara was unsure whether it was approval or annoyance in their faces, but none of them looked at him with fear like they did her. Or, for that matter, the way some people looked at her cousin right after he had saved their lives. She gave a quick statement – two in the same day; she wondered what Kal-El would think – and took the air as soon as possible.

"Hey," Marvel called out. He joined her, moving easily through the sky with a grace she still had not mastered. "Thanks for the assist back there," he said with a grin. He offered his hand once again. "We got interrupted before, but I'm Billy. Billy Batson." Her surprise must have shown on her face. "If I can't trust Superman's cousin," he said, "who can I trust?"

"My name is Kara." She shook his hand and returned his smile with one of her own. "Kara Zor-El."

/-\

Through a hole in reality, two refugees appeared.

Wind and lightning presaged them, the former so intense that it flipped over a car and threw it into a wall while the latter tore great divots from the concrete. The vortex itself appeared without warning, first seeming to be only a tall, vertical line that slowly rotated into an open hole that looked upon a world with red skies. Fire and hail rained down upon the surface of that world, detonating with fierce explosions or columns of living flame. The crimson skies were crisscrossed with hundreds of flying creatures and great, floating barges of war, all seemingly dedicated to breaking the world.

And from this maelstrom tumbled two women.

One was clad entirely in white and red, with short-cropped blonde hair and ample bust, while her ally was dressed entirely in black and purple, with only a white cross dominating the hardened cuirass encircling her torso. Both were battered and bruised, with burns and still bleeding cuts prominently displayed; the dark-clad woman in particular seemed barely conscious as she slid to a stop on the concrete road, but the other woman twisted in mid-air where she floated for a moment, her eyes red and her hands clenched. The portal continued to rotate, growing smaller with each moment, and cerulean lightning danced around its perimeter, flickering and flashing and growing ever more erratic. The woman's eyes widened and, with blurring speed, she darted toward her unmoving companion, scooped her up with no discernible difficulty, and then sprang up into the night sky. They rocketed away from the collapsing portal.

Within seconds, it vanished completely, exploding with a ground-shaking boom that set off car alarms for miles and rattled windows for easily twice that distance. The blonde woman glanced back as she carried her insensate companion and blinked at the sudden appearance of a man in red at the portal site. If she didn't know better, she would swear that it was Wally standing there, but he was gone less than a heartbeat later, so she was not able to confirm her desperate hope. Instead, she continued climbing, angling sharply toward the tallest of the buildings in this unfamiliar city. Once she reached its roof, she lowered her ally to the surface and gave her a quick scan. Relief set in – nothing was broken, there was no internal bleeding, and all of her injuries were superficial – and she sank down next to the dark-clad girl in bone-deep exhaustion.

Her name was Karen and she had just watched her world die.

"Where are we?" came a soft, pained voice some time later. Karen jolted awake from a light doze – she wasn't sure how much time had passed, but the sky was brighter so she guessed an hour or two – and glanced down at her friend.

"It looks like Central City," she said. The comment caused an understandable frown – in their world, most of the entire American Midwest was gone. Central City had been ground zero when one of the first Flash's rogues went insane and lost control of his weather-based powers nearly fifteen years ago. Karen turned her eyes to the sky and concentrated on her enhanced vision. A moment later, she grimaced. "I don't think we're in the right place, Helena," she muttered.

"Right place or right time?" Helena Wayne, known as Huntress when she was wearing the black and purple, pushed herself into a seated position with a soft groan. Time travel had been their original intent with the desperate hope they could warn the Justice Society about the impending invasion before it was too late.

"Both, maybe." Karen gestured toward the sky. "The constellations are out of place," she said, "so we're definitely at least close to the right time, but there are satellites that shouldn't be there and a Kryptonian space station that I've never seen before." She closed her eyes and tilted her head to focus her enhanced hearing. It took a few moments to sift through the sheer noise, but finally, she isolated the sound of a radio morning show.

"And in our League Watch," she heard one of newscasters remark, "Superman and Wonder Woman met with the United Nations yesterday but refused to comment on questions about whether the Justice League would be further expanding its roster."

"Do you think the rumors about him and Wonder Babe are true?" another radio personality interjected with a smirk in his voice. "I know if it was me-"

"We're definitely not in the right place," Karen said as she refocused her hearing. "The news people are talking about a Justice _League_." She shook her head. "Let's get you healed up and then figure out what to do next. Maybe they can help."

"Maybe." Helena grimaced as she shifted where she sat. "We'll need some clothes," she started. Karen grinned.

"_You'll _need some clothes," she quickly corrected before tapping her belt. The hard-light projector built into her suit sparked and flickered, briefly altering her appearance to a more civilian one before failing completely. Helena snickered.

"You were saying?"

"We'll need some clothes," Karen repeated sourly. As much as she loved Earth, she hated wearing human clothes. They always felt weird to her, though she was never quite able to put her finger on why. Her mood soured even more when she realized they would need to steal them. From the look on her face, Helena recognized the train of her thoughts.

"You need to think out of the box," she said. "Use those super senses of yours, find a crack den, smash it open and take the money from them." Karen gave her a flat look.

"What's this?" she asked wryly. "You don't have a Bat Dimensional Credit Card Thing in that utility belt of yours?" She pushed off the roof and floated a foot or so above it, scanning the city with her enhanced senses. There. That looked like a good place to start. "I'll be right back," she said before throwing herself toward the rundown part of town.

"Like I'm going to go anywhere," she heard Helena mutter.

At the last moment, Karen changed her mind about how to approach this and climbed back into the sky so she could observe for a little bit longer. Normally, she'd just kick in the front door, toss all of the scumbags around until they finally got the point that their pop guns were useless, fry the drugs themselves with her heat vision, and then leave, but if a Flash actually lived in this city, then he could be there the instant someone reported a flying woman and she wasn't ready to answer questions just yet.

From a bank of clouds, she watched the goings-on for a solid thirty minutes, identifying where they kept the majority of their product and their ill-gotten money. Fortunately for her, they were both in the same room, buried deep in the middle of the small house. There was always one gunman present in that room, but like all the rest, he looked to be addicted to their product as well and thus, wasn't very effective. She waited a bit longer, noting that most of the dealers and guards were so stoned they probably wouldn't have noticed if she had walked in through the front door. Shaking her head in disgust, she acted.

With a titanic crash, she smashed through the roof of the central room, then blurred toward the startled guard and gave him a quick thump to the head with flick of her index finger. He slumped backward, already unconscious, and she tossed him onto a nearby loveseat that she then picked up and jammed against the door. Another blur took her to the stack of cash which she tossed into a nearby duffel bag that looked to be intended for this very purpose. She quickly scanned the rest of the room, her eyes automatically stopping at the threadbare long-coat tossed over the back of a chair. It barely fit but managed to cover up her suit which was all she really needed at the moment. Gathering the duffel, she looked at the carefully arranged piles of narcotics but didn't bother trying to identify them. Instead, she simply let her heat vision wash over them. A moment later, she was climbing back into the sky, fast enough that she'd be seen as little more than a streak to anyone looking. Behind her, she could hear the other druggies still trying to shove the door open.

The secondhand store she located was perfect for what she needed and the cashier didn't even blink when she paid in cash for the clothes she chose. Now dressed in the uncomfortable pants and shirt – she kept her costume's boots since they were far more comfortable than anything else in the store and didn't look _that _strange with her clothes – she then paid a visit to a second store where she bought some clothes for Helena. Finally, she hit a big chain store where she purchased a first aid kit, some groceries, and a paper.

Helena was still seated on the roof of the building when she returned, though she'd removed her mask and was using her cape to protect against the cold. Instantly, Karen cursed herself – temperatures so rarely bothered her, it had not even occurred to her that her friend might be freezing – and settled in next to her.

"Daily Planet?" Helena frowned at the paper. "I've never even heard of them."

"I looked around but couldn't find a Star," Karen replied as she used her heat vision on their food. Soon, it was bubbling hot. "Look on page two." Helena flipped open the paper and froze. "He looks like your dad to me," Karen said hesitantly. She really didn't need to say more as her friend read the article involving Bruce Wayne's thirtieth birthday bash in Gotham and how it was nearly spoiled by a pair of the city's most notorious rogues – Riddler and some moron calling himself Cluemaster; they weren't working together, but rather, seemed to be competing somehow – both of whom were taken into custody by police after the Batman beat them into submission.

"He's thirty." Helena shuddered. "My dad is only seven years older than me." She made another face. "That means my mom is two years older than I am. Ick."

"If it's any consolation," Karen interjected with a smirk, "I think your dad is pretty hot." Helena's expression was worth it so Karen continued. "I mean … look at that chin! And that smile! Totally hot!"

"You can stop at any time," Helena said with another dramatic shiver. She frowned. "He's still single," she remarked suddenly, ignoring the malicious grin Karen gave her. "Mom and Dad were already married in 2019 on our world." Helena glanced up. "Until we have a better grasp of what's going on," she said, "we should probably keep a low profile."

"They might be able to help." Karen tapped the front page of the paper and the picture of this world's Superman. He looked different than her cousin in some ways, the same in others, but just seeing the House of El symbol worn so prominently made her hopeful.

"They might," Helena agreed. "But how would they react if they knew how we got here? What we did?" Karen looked away – she wasn't proud of how they'd managed to activate this portal … but if she had to do it all over again, she wouldn't hesitate.

"All right," she said softly. "We give it some time." She frowned. "But let's keep the option open. This … Justice League might be able to help us."

Helena nodded, but did not reply. From her expression, Karen could tell her friend was already deep in thought and formulating plans and options. For all she insisted she was nothing like her father, Helena was very much a child of Bruce Wayne. And he _always _had a plan.

/-\

Gotham was strangely silent for a change.

Perched atop one of the taller buildings within the East End, Bruce stared quietly down at the activity taking place upon the streets of his city. Even now, at three in the morning, there was activity taking place as the night owls and criminals and late shifts transited to their destinations. Late night buses continued their lonely routes, rarely carrying more than one or two people, and police cars prowled the darkened neighborhoods, ostensibly watching for crimes but, in far too many cases, actually acting as lookouts for less than legal endeavors already underway.

Tonight, he was alone. Richard was at home, ostensibly recovering from his bout with the flu but in reality preparing for an upcoming football game, and Barbara was thankfully busy with family obligations. Under his cowl, Bruce frowned – he wasn't sure when it had happened, but his lonely crusade had become a three person act, with an acrobatic fifteen year old boy and a highly intelligent seventeen year old girl backing him up. Nearly two years had passed since Barbara first donned her own makeshift costume and joined the unending war on crime, and Bruce was still trying to talk her into early retirement. Richard also was uninterested in abandoning this life, even though it was not what Bruce wanted for him.

"My classmates watch Simpson reruns when they go home," he'd said with a grin. "I get to punch criminals in the face and dodge bullets." Bruce knew what he meant but still, he questioned the wisdom of letting the boy run around in a cape. At least he'd talked Richard out of having an all-yellow cape and bright green pants.

Barbara was another matter entirely. Knowing she was Jim Gordon's daughter was bad enough, but he had no emotional hold or role in her life outside the mask that could assist him in shutting her down. Even worse was Richard's encouragement of her – he'd been responsible for her obtaining a superior set of armor based on what he wore and, of course, he'd also accidentally let slip Bruce's identity when he thought she already knew it. Part of Richard's actions were fairly obviously rooted in his attraction toward Barbara, but he was also right when he argued how invaluable she'd been in a few of their investigations. Her skills on the computer were superior to even his and Bruce had unconsciously begun to delegate tasks and research he'd normally do to her.

"Now all you need is a Bat-dog and you'll be a nice, happy, mal-adjusted Bat-family," Clark had recently joked. He'd then started speculating on whether a certain burglar might consider trading in her cat ears for a bat cowl, at which point Bruce had walked away. It wasn't fair. Around everyone else, he could scowl darkly or give them an intimidating look that would cause stammers … but Clark either ignored him or outright laughed at him. Diana did something similar, though she more often gave him a counter-look that could only be defined as bemused.

The creak of sudden weight upon the not entirely steady scaffolding warned him that he was no longer alone, but he did not tense or react. Instead, he waited and tried to figure out _why _he wasn't worried. She was a criminal. She stole things, for fun and profit, yet he couldn't bring himself to shut her down like he did all of the others. Was it because he knew what she looked like under the mask? Because she knew what _he _looked like under the mask? Because they'd seen each other naked?

"You're out late, stud." Selina joined him at his perch, smiling at the scowl he wore. She leaned back against the railing, ignoring the ominous groan it gave, and crossed her arms. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were stalking me."

"Why?" Bruce asked. "Have you done something wrong?" Selina laughed lightly.

"Today?" She shook her head. "No, today was very boring." With a suddenness that should have bothered him, she slid closer and pressed her lips against the side of his cowl. "I bet you could make it _less _boring though."

Overhead, ominous clouds gathered and silent lightning danced among the heavens. Bruce tensed – ever since Olympus, he'd looked at the skies differently, especially during storms; lightning caused him to flinch now, which it never had before – and Selina very clearly misinterpreted his reaction. Her smile dropped away and suddenly, _she _was glaring. She pulled her hand away.

"Your loss," she murmured before diving over the railing and plunging down the side of the building. Bruce could not help but to react – he half lunged to grab her, but by then, she was already gone – and he grimaced at his response. Already, he could hear her laugh drifting up to mock him and a moment later, he caught sight of her again as she swung away on a grapple line … a grapple line that had been on his belt moments ago. He barely bit back a curse. It was going to be a long climb down.

By the time he pulled back into the Cave, it was almost five in the morning and he was exhausted. Alfred was waiting silently beside the hydraulic ramp that slowly rotated the car back into place. The expression on his butler's face was as inscrutable as ever, but Bruce was almost convinced he saw Pennyworth's lip curve up slightly. As soon as he removed his cowl, Bruce noted the source of Alfred's amusement: Selina's lipstick stood out rather prominently against the black armor. It was a good thing nothing else had come up.

"A successful night, sir?" Alfred asked in that dry British manner. Bruce glowered.

"What do I have today?" he asked as he began removing the armor and placing it into the storage locker.

"Bruce Wayne is scheduled to attend this evening's shareholder's meeting, sir," Alfred replied, "although I do not think anyone will think it out of character if he misses it." Bruce exhaled in relief at that – there was nothing he hated more than those kinds of self-congratulatory gatherings. Meeting the shareholders was one thing, but the executive board had a tendency to turn these dinners into more political nonsense as they jockeyed for position and tried to outdo each other. If most of them weren't necessary, he'd throw them out on their well padded asses. "Providing, of course," Alfred continued with another twist of his lip, "he is seen at young Master Grayson's football game."

"That's tonight?" Bruce frowned. He thought it was … Friday. Today was Friday. Dammit. "Six o'clock," he said aloud, wincing at the thought of being in the presence of screaming parents who seemed intent on humiliating their offspring. He made a mental note to remind Richard not to draw _too _much attention to himself when he led his team to victory.

A message was waiting for him when he sat down in front of his computer via the untraceable email account he'd set up to communicate with Gordon and Bruce hesitated for a long moment before opening it. Three times in the last month alone he'd had to take down Joker after the psychopath escaped from Arkham and it only seemed like a matter of time before things went south again. Within the GCPD, there was even an unofficial 'shoot to kill' standing order that went into effect the instant Arkham reported his escape – Joker had actually been shot a dozen times now, but somehow, always managed to survive. The current mayor had even hinted in press conferences about making that official department policy … and Bruce honestly couldn't say he blamed him.

The message was simple: Approved, 2130.

Bruce leaned back in his seat and stared at the monitor for a long time. Finally, he closed it down, finished undressing, and went upstairs to get some sleep.

Richard's team crushed their opposing rivals, 42-7, with their star wide receiver (and former circus acrobat) personally responsible for three of the touchdowns. With the clock ticking down to his scheduled meeting, Bruce gave Richard permission to join the rest of the team for after-game pizza – he even slipped Grayson his credit card so none of the parents would have to worry about paying for the food – and then discreetly returned home where he donned his armor and cowl.

The previous night's hinted at storm arrived shortly before he reached Arkham, with the rain falling in heavy, fat drops that splattered against the car's windshield. Thus far, he'd resisted calling it the Batmobile like Richard did, but if he was honest with himself, Bruce actually thought of it that way now. Cold November air greeted him when he climbed out of the sleek vehicle and he strode toward the door, ignoring the nod Gordon gave him. The commissioner handed his empty coffee cup to the police officer who had driven him – Alvarez, Bruce thought it was – and then followed him in. The receptionist pointed the way, even though he knew it by heart; how many times had he trod this same path, bearing a laughing madman to a cell in the hopes this would be the last time? Another police officer waited outside Joker's cell – it was telling that none of the other inmates, not Harvey, not Ivy, not even Jones or Grundy warranted such extra security – and he saluted Bruce as he opened the door.

Joker sat in a mostly dark cell, seated at a metal desk bolted to the wall and the floor. The edges were rounded but even Croc would have had difficulty pulling it free. Moving quietly, Bruce watched as the white-skinned inmate continued his silent game of solitaire. He hefted the other chair – a wooden one, he noted; it was too easily breakable and should not be here, not with Joker and his proficiency with hand weapons – and then sat down across the table.

"Hello," he said darkly. "I came to talk."

/-\

He could not recall the last time he felt this relaxed.

Eyes closed, Clark leaned back in his chair and enjoyed the silence. Here, there was nothing to bother him, no incessant human noise that battered against his enhanced senses without pause, or the pressure to never misuse his superhuman abilities, or to always be there when people needed him the most. For the time being, he was utterly and completely alone, surrounded only by towering mountains, hard vacuum and a view to die for.

Yes, he decided. The moon was one of his favorite places to visit.

For the last five years, he'd made a habit of coming here for a couple hours every month or so – his record was a day and a half, but that was following a six month stretch where he'd been so damned busy both in and out of the suit he hadn't had time to get away – where he could just relax and let his ears recover. The solar visor was deployed but covered only his nose and mouth so he could breathe.

He'd already slept for several hours and was nearing the point where he really needed to get up and go back home, but the urge to just stay here for a little while longer was pretty overwhelming. What exactly did he have to go back to? A cousin that he really didn't know all that well who didn't share many of his morals or beliefs? A fortress of solitude … emphasis on solitude? A job he liked most of the time and loathed at others? Another job … that was the same. Not to mention a host of enemies who hated him just because he was different or had kicked their ass when they were trying to kill people? Yeah, staying here for a little while longer until he worked himself out of this foul mood seemed like a great idea.

The sudden change in atmospheric pressure caused him to react without hesitation; he was up, off his seat, body poised for battle, even before his eyes snapped open, but he relaxed almost at once at the sight of Diana. She was smirking at him, her left bracer shining and sparkling in the earthshine, and he realized that she'd reshaped her shield into a small dome around them. Clark blinked – he hadn't known she could do that. But then, Diana was always surprising him.

"Do you know how long it took me to find you?" she asked as she floated toward the other lawn chair. Originally, Clark had brought it up here for Kara, but she'd used it only once or twice as, somehow, she managed to cope with humanity's noise a lot better than he did. He didn't think that was fair at all.

"Kinda the point," Clark said with a smile. He lowered himself back to his seat before digging into the cooler and extracting a beer. Tossing it toward her, he leaned back. "It's my day off."

"Since when do you take vacations?" Diana asked. She took a long pull from the beer – it was her favorite and Clark wondered if she knew how much it annoyed Hal to be the person responsible for ensuring the Watchtower's supply of it was always stocked.

"You're one to talk," he replied with a smile. "I've barely seen you lately." Diana looked away and instantly, Clark wanted to kick himself. She'd never said it aloud and he would never ask, but Clark was fairly certain Ares had done more than smack her around last year. Once more, a terrible rage swelled up within him, but he pushed it back, swallowed it, and focused on erecting a wall of ice around it. Diana was strong – if she needed him, she'd tell him.

"Things have been … difficult," she admitted. The smile she gave him was a sad one. "Mother is more convinced than ever that you are Herakles reborn." Clark scowled and this time, it was he who looked away. What exactly did it take, he wondered, to convince that woman he wasn't a monster in the making? He come to her aid when she asked, fought a freaking Olympian god for her, and even made sure Bruce respected their stupid laws when Hermes teleported them to Themyscira. All he'd wanted to do was keep an eye on Diana while she recovered, but he'd kept his mouth shut and didn't push. "Pay no attention to her, Kal," Diana said as she reached out with one hand and placed it upon his arm. "She does not know you as I do."

"It's hard not to be insulted," he muttered, "when she lumps me in with that piece of crap."

"She judges _all _men by that standard, I fear." Diana glanced around and frowned. "Why do you come here?" she asked. "It is very … stark."

"It's quiet." He sighed. "Did you know I _have_ to sleep in the Fortress now?" Diana shook her head. "Metropolis is too loud, even if I try to use one of Bruce's sensory deprivation chambers." He shrugged. "So I generally fly up to the Fortress and sleep there." He gestured at the barren moonscape. "Then, once a month or so, I come up here for a couple of hours. Nobody to bother me." He shot her a mock frown. "Up until a nosy Amazon insists on tracking me down and showing off with her not-magic forcefield bracelet." She rolled her eyes as he glanced around to look at the dome. "I didn't know you could extend it this far."

"I am experimenting with different applications of this _very _magic bracer." Diana was silent for a moment and when she spoke again, her voice was much softer. "Kal," she said, "I know we have not talked much since … since Ares." Clark instantly came alert and shifted to a seating position to face her, leaning forward slightly so she could tell he was giving her his undivided attention. To his surprise, she blushed slightly and glanced away momentarily. "And I know Mother never thanked you," she began.

"I didn't do it for her," Clark said automatically. "If the situation was reversed," he pointed out, "you'd do the same for me."

"I would." Diana inhaled and looked up. "Still, I cannot help but to feel I owe you my thanks." Clark grinned at her.

"It's what I do," he joked. "Beat up the bad guy, talk some crap to Bruce and save the girl." Diana's eyebrows shot up at that and he winced. "Shouldn't have said that last part, should I?"

"Probably not," she said with a smile of her own. "I am magnanimous, however, and shall forgive you."

"And that's why you're awesome," Clark replied. He glanced down, wondering if he should mention his suspicion about Athena. Her mastery of the Kryptonian language had been perfect, though some of the words she used when she tried to talk him down were archaic, even to an staid language like that of his biological parents. In the wake of that empty sleeper pod he'd noticed on the scoutship when he first discovered it, there seemed to be only one explanation.

"Would you have done it?" Diana asked abruptly. She was intentionally not looking at him. "Would you have killed Ares?" Clark's good mood faltered.

"Yes." The word came out harsher than he wanted it to. Even now, the anger, the fury, the seething rage pushed at him and made him regret bending to her wishes despite how hypocritical it made him. How many people had died because of Luthor's madness? How was he any different than Ares? Clark inhaled deeply and refocused on calming himself. "I'm glad it didn't come to that," he said, "but if you hadn't said anything, I _would _have killed him."

"I think … I think I would have as well," Diana murmured. She forced another smile on her face. "Do you have another beer?" she asked. "This one is empty." She tossed the bottle toward him and Clark caught it as it tumbled lazily through the zero-gee.

"As a matter of fact," he replied, "I do." He deposited the empty in the freezer and extracted the last two beers. Handing one of them to her, he waited until she'd opened it. They tapped the bottles together and drank. "So tell me," Clark said, "how are things going with Donna?"

They talked for another hour, with Diana regaling him with tales of her cousin's training and the misadventures the young girl got herself into. Clark had heard many of these stories from Kara, though they'd been told from the point of view of someone actively involved in many of these exploits, so hearing it from an outside observer cast them in a far more amusing light. By the time, she withdrew the not-magic forcefield back into her bracer so it surrounded only her, both of them were laughing so hard it hurt.

Minutes later, they breached Earth's atmosphere and Clark, braced for the wall of sound, flinched nonetheless. As expected, though, it was more than manageable. He blinked through the noise and half-turned to face Diana when he caught the snippet of a news broadcast that washed away all traces of amusement.

"Something's happened in Gotham," he said, reaching out for her hand. She accepted, even though it probably wasn't entirely necessary – in the last few years, her own speed had increased tenfold to the point that she could generally keep up with him unless he really tried to pour on the speed. Even so, that still not-magic forcefield she could extend to surround them both made flight even easier than normal.

They reached the Cave in minutes only to discover Richard seated before the great monitors. His face was stained with tears and he was mostly in costume – sans mask, of course – but he glanced up at their approach.

"He's at Northwestern Memorial Hospital," Grayson said.

"How bad is it?" Clark asked automatically. His heart sunk at the response.

"Bad."

"She might not walk again," Bruce growled when they joined him moments later. He wasn't in costume so both Clark and Diana had donned their own civilian attire, he by activating the hard-light holograms built into his suit, she by clashing her bracers together. Bruce was a little apart from where Jim Gordon sat outside his daughter's room – at a glance, Clark could tell the commissioner was not in great shape either physically or mentally. "The bullet is lodged against her spine – I'm flying in specialists now to see if they can remove it."

"If I can help," Diana said softly, "let me know." She walked away from them, angling toward Gordon. Clark watched for a long heartbeat, noting the exact moment Gordon observed her decorative bracers and intuited who she was. Gotham's police commissioner made no comment about it, though, and accepted her comfort with the expression of a man who might have just lost everything. His sharpness wasn't a terrible surprise – even though he didn't have any proof, Bruce was convinced the man knew who he was behind the cowl but saw The Batman as a necessary evil in a city like Gotham.

"Joker?" Clark asked softly. Instantly, Bruce's face contorted with rage, but he closed his eyes, breathed deeply and somehow found his center.

"In custody." The two words were nearly spat out. "I almost killed him, Clark." He glared at both fists. "No one would have blamed me if I had …"

"You would have blamed yourself," Clark replied. Automatically, he glanced toward Diana – she was speaking softly to Gordon – and his thoughts instantly drifted to the conversation they'd had not long ago. As the child of farmers, he knew that feral animals sometimes needed to be put down and the Joker was definitely that. No one would have thought ill of a police officer if he'd shot and killed Joker, but Clark had his doubts The Batman would get the same benefit of the doubt. That was another one of the reasons it was so important to set the example he strived for as Superman – the world cheered for them when they saved lives, but Clark had a terrible suspicion that their cries of joy would rapidly transform into screams of rage the instant heroes began killing. Fear would drive them and those more interested in personal power than the common good would ride that fear to places of authority.

Still, he tried very hard not to think about how close he'd come to killing Ares last year.

"How do I face him?" Bruce asked softly. He was looking at Gordon now, a stricken expression on his face and he walked away before Clark could respond. Frowning, Clark watched him go, wondering about the best way to help his friend. A moment later, though, his eyebrows shot up in surprise when he saw a dark-haired woman he recognized intercept Wayne and redirect him toward a chair where she sat with him, clinging to his hand. At any other time, Clark would have smiled at the sight of Selina Kyle and the open affection between the two (contrary to what Bruce always insisted), but today … today, he just wanted to hit something very, very hard.

But instead, he cautiously walked toward James Gordon and offered his hand.

"Clark Kent," he said, wincing at the automatic narrowing of the commissioner's eyes. "I'm a friend of Bruce's," he started.

"I know who you are," Gordon replied. There was a harsh edge to his words and Clark only hoped he was imagining the double-meaning. He glanced briefly toward Bruce – the flash of recognition in his face when he saw Ms. Kyle was undeniable, but he returned his eyes to Clark's. "Are you here for your paper, Mister Kent?"

"No, sir." Clark hesitated, not entirely sure what to say. As he looked at Gordon, he saw a man barely clinging to control, desperately afraid and looking for anything that might make things better. How many times had Bruce told him how amazing this man was? How courageous? According to Bruce, Jim Gordon was Gotham's own Horatius, standing at the bridge before the endless horde of madness the city had fallen into. And right now, that man needed hope. Without letting himself think it through, Clark removed his glasses – Diana inhaled sharply – and looked Gordon in the eyes. "However we can help, sir," he said, abandoning the instinctive hunch he'd started utilizing when wearing the glasses, "we will." Gordon looked at him, eyes wide, and finally nodded.

"Thank you," he whispered. Donning his glasses once more, Clark took a seat across from Gordon and leaned forward.

"Tell me about Barbara," he said. The commissioner breathed deeply.

And a moment later, he began to speak.

* * *

**A/N #2: **The Bat reference is obviously to _The Killing Joke_.

I mentally envision Dwayne Johnson as Captain Marvel. I swear, he was sculpted from rock (heh) for that very purpose...get cracking, DC!

If you don't recognize Helena and Karen, well ...

As with Metropolis replacing NYC, and Gotham replaces Chicago, Fawcett City replaces Minneapolis. Of course, it occurred to me after the fact that this means my version of DC won't have NY Yankees or Chicago Bears ... unintended consequences...


	8. Year Eight: Champion

**Year Eight: Champion**

**Author's Note: **How fricking awesome was SM/WW #1?

* * *

**United Nations to Hold Closed Session with Justice League, Green Lanterns**

_Published April 20, 2020 / Lois Lane_

METROPOLIS, N.Y. – The deeply divided United Nations Security Council will hold a closed session on Tuesday regarding last month's extraterrestrial incursion amid intense lobbying by the countries most affected to authorize a global war footing.

The Justice League is expected to be in attendance as the UN attempts to determine the next course of action following the most recent attempted invasion by the Khundish Empire. Kal-El, more commonly known as Superman, was instrumental in repulsing this invasion attempt and is expected to testify about the League's attempts to circumvent future attacks.

Immediately prior to this meeting, China and Germany officially declared their backing of a proposed joint American-Russian planetary defense network that will incorporate the Justice League Watchtower's early detection and warning system to provide global overwatch.

**Click for more from Daily Planet Online**

/-\

THERE WAS FEAR IN THE ROOM.

His back straight and his head high, Clark sat silently, flanked on either side by the two Green Lanterns assigned to Earth. Hal wore his usual ring-generated mask to at least partially conceal his identity, but John made no such attempts, though that might have been due to the concentration required to maintain the real-time transmission to Oa. Floating just above the floor, squarely between where Clark sat and the Security Council was an image of a Guardian. It was not Ganthet, which disappointed Clark more than he expected – Ganthet was easily the most open-minded and least frustrating of the Guardians, which wasn't say he was a fun guy to hang around with by any stretch of the imagination – but at least this one hadn't started tossing out the back-handed insults about the 'primitive culture' of humanity.

The desire to shift in his seat had grown exponentially for Clark over the last hour and he silently blamed both Diana and Kara. When the UN announced its intention to meet, there had never been any question as to which member of the League would represent them, much to Clark's continued disgust. He recognized that he was the face of the League, but God help him, he wished the more politically minded members – specifically, Diana or Arthur, King of Freaking Atlantis – would handle this kind of dog and pony show. To make matters worse, Kara had quickly (and repeatedly) encouraged him to don a facsimile of the House of El ceremonial battle armor to prove to the UN that the League was taking this entire situation seriously. Though he had no proof of it, Clark was fairly certain the armor was Diana's idea – it was both encouraging and frustrating at how easily those two got along – and he had to admit, it was a good public relations move.

But dammit, this stupid armor was the most uncomfortable thing he'd ever worn.

"We are … not ignorant of your plight," the Guardian was saying. It was weird, seeing his lips move out of sync with the words everyone was hearing, but according to John, the translation was perfect. In fact, each of the ambassadors was hearing this in their native tongues. The only drawback was that it required absolute concentration, so John was effectively out of the discussion. "The Lanterns we have assigned to your Sector have _repeatedly _encouraged more direct action." There was an almost annoyed undertone to the Guardian's remark which caused both of the human Lanterns in question to smirk. "To that end, we have organized a summit with the hostile parties in thirty of your solar days." The Guardian actually frowned. "Once you have selected an appropriate ambassador to represent Earth," he – or she; Clark honestly couldn't tell, though he leaned toward he – said, "one of our Lanterns will escort that ambassador to Rimbor to facilitate talks."

"What sort of talks?" the American ambassador began just as the Guardian's image winked out. All eyes turned to John.

"The transmission was terminated on his end," Stewart said flatly.

"He hung up on us," Hal added.

Instantly, the meeting degenerated into angry and fearful shouting as the ambassadors each began trying to talk over the others, usually in their native languages which turned the entire thing into a loud cacophony. Clark winced slightly before glancing at Hal.

"What do you know about Rimbor?" he asked.

"Not exactly the best place in the galaxy," Hal replied, "but they're fanatical about maintaining their neutrality."

"So it's like the Switzerland of space?" Clark asked.

"Switzerland by way of Gotham," John interjected. "It's neutral because every lowlife piece of crap in the quadrant goes there to spend money." He glowered. "I'd say it's more like Tortuga in those pirate movies than Switzerland."

"Then why would the Guardians arrange a summit there?" the British ambassador asked abruptly. Too late, Clark remembered that there was a live microphone only a half foot or so from his face. He glanced up and realized the Security Council had fallen silent and were listening.

"Rimbor is … a contradiction," Hal said. He gestured with his ring and it quickly projected a spinning representation of the planet in question. Clark barely choked back a smirk – he fully planned on harassing Jordan about this blatant Star Wars rip-off later. "Officially, there are no laws on the planet so anything goes, but the gangs that rule there make a killing-"

"Literally," John muttered.

"-on the off-world imports," Hal continued, utterly ignoring Stewart's remark. "What they really want, though, is respectability, so a hundred years ago, they convinced all of the stellar nations who made use of their ports to sign the Rimbor Accords." He paused, clearly unsure how best to phrase the next part so John spoke up.

"Any stellar nation who signs the Accords must seek formal permission to attack another member of the Accords at the risk of uniting all other signatories against them," he said.

"That's it, then!" the French ambassador said. He was a young, vivacious man who was too excitable by half. Clark missed the former delegate from France – when she passed last year, he'd attended her funeral in his guise as a reporter and came very close to showing up in the cape. "We must simply become a signatory!"

"It isn't quite that easy," Hal said. He killed his Rimbor image and it faded away, exactly like the hologram in _Return of the Jedi. _"To be eligible to sign the accords," he continued with a wince, "your ambassador has to run through a gauntlet and defeat each champion of the other signatories."

"To prove your mettle," John added. "There have been … fatalities by those who attempted this."

"That's barbaric!" the American ambassador snapped. Both Lanterns shrugged.

"Like I said," Hal said. "They're a contradiction."

Clark sighed. Even as the delegates began whispering urgently to themselves, having killed their microphones in a vain attempt to avoid being overheard, he knew exactly what was coming. And he wasn't remotely surprised at what came next.

"Kal-El," the secretary-general began slowly, "would you be willing-"

"Yes." Clark's interruption caused them all to glance at each other with surprise, but he could see the relief on their faces, could hear it in their hearbeats. There were hopeful smiles all around but they were tinged with something he could only called … expectation. For a long moment, the ambassadors sat quietly, watching him, as if they were waiting for him to say more. Or, more likely, to ask for some concession for the League.

Clark remained silent.

"This should be put to a vote to the general assembly," the secretary-general declared after a long moment of awkward silence. "Kal-El, with your approval, I will draft the recommendation to appoint you as Earth's ambassador to this Rimbor Summit." Clark nodded silently. "We will contact the League when we gather for the vote."

"Thank you," Clark said as he pushed himself to his feet. The two Lanterns followed suit and, for the next few minutes, all three of them shook the hands of the ambassadors. Finally, they were able to take their leave.

"They were expecting you to make a couple of demands," Hal muttered under his breath.

"Which is why I didn't," Clark replied. "We're all in this together and now isn't the time to start screwing each other over."

There was a small army of reporters waiting for them outside and Clark immediately zeroed in on Lois. She had Jimmy with her today – he was coming along nicely as a reporter, especially with Mad-Dog Lane there to mentor him – and she gave him a wink no one else could have possibly noticed. The shouted questions were deafening, even to normal humans, but they quieted when Clark raised his hand.

"The League has no statement at this time," he said simply. "Thank you." Without another word, he floated up into the sky, both Lanterns at his side. The reporters continued to shout out questions they had to know would not be answered, but buried in the din, Clark heard a familiar voice that made him smile.

"That isn't fair, Clark," Lois murmured, so low that even Jimmy who was standing next to her could not hear it.

"Tell me about these Accord signatories," Clark instructed as he and the two Lanterns angled up toward the Watchtower. "If I'm going to have to fight them, I'd like to know what I'm facing."

/-\

Gotham City by day was only slightly more horrifying than by night.

Dark glasses concealing much of her face, the woman who currently called herself Helena Bertinelli carefully picked her way through the heavy crowds outside the massive department store, her attention intent on a single man several dozen yards distant. No one else paid him a great deal of attention apart from the normal disgusted glances all transients received in this part of town, but Helena knew better. His physical conditioning was too good for him to be a person of the streets and, though he concealed it exceptionally well, he was very clearly following someone without drawing too much attention to himself. Had she never seen this particular disguise before, Helena suspected that even she would not have given him a second glance.

But 'Matches' Malone was an old favorite of her father's.

Pausing briefly to give the appearance of window shopping, Helena watched her dad … watched this world's Bruce Wayne continue to discreetly stalk his prey, mingling with the other panhandlers and easily diverting attention away from himself whenever it was necessary. At any other time, she would have loved to just spend some time observing him – he was in his prime, perfectly poised between youthful ability and hard-won wisdom; in her world, by the time she became aware that he was The Batman, he'd already started easing out of the more active role necessary thanks to a body incapable of absorbing more abuse, so seeing him like this … it was amazing – but the identity of the person he was shadowing convinced her otherwise.

"Karen," she said under her breath, knowing her friend would be able to hear her through the noise, "you've picked up a tail." She could see the instant Karen heard her – in mid-step, the statuesque blonde woman tensed and started to begin cautiously looking around – but more importantly, she could see her dad … dammit … she could see "Matches Malone" realize he'd been made. Without breaking character, he merged into a particularly dense crowd of lunch-time suits rushing to get back to their offices and let them carry him away. "He bolted, but you need to head west," Helena said softly. The presence of the Bluetooth headset prevented her from appearing to be speaking to the air, but she turned away from the store and walked away nonetheless.

Barely four steps away, she realized that _she'd_ picked up a tail as well.

Frowning, she continued walking calmly, pausing every now and then to admire certain shop displays. Her shadow was a woman and Helena's heart sank the instant she recognized the dark-haired woman – could this day possibly get any worse? Why, yes. Yes, it could.

"Is there a reason you're stalking him?" Selina Kyle asked a moment later once she had drawn close enough to speak. For a moment, Helena forgot how to talk. Seeing her mother like this, so young and vibrant and without a single gray hair or wrinkle … it struck her like a bullet. She blinked the moment away.

"I'm sorry?" she asked in a calm voice. Step one was to deflect. Moth … Selina gave her a smile that was a shade warmer than feral, but only just.

"You're very good," she remarked, "and I probably wouldn't have made you if you hadn't warned off the blonde." Selina leaned forward. "And if I made you," she said with a wicked glint in her eyes, "you can bet that he did too." Her smile faltered after a second and quickly transformed into a frown. There was the vaguest hint of recognition in her eyes, like she knew she should know Helena but didn't. "Who are you?" she demanded, an edge creeping into her voice. Instinct kicked in at that moment – a deep-rooted part of Helena's psyche knew this particular tone very well and it always required absolute and immediate obedience lest punishment be just around the corner.

"Helena," she said automatically. Somehow, she just barely choked back her instinctive use of her last name. "Helena Bertinelli."

"Helena." Frowning, Selina glanced away. "My mother's name was Helena," she murmured. _Strike now_, Helena's instincts screamed. _Now, while she's off-balance. _From Selina's stance and momentary distraction, there were at least six different attacks that could temporarily immobilize her long enough for Helena to make an escape.

But she could not make herself move.

The moment passed – Selina blinked and once more raked her cool green eyes over Helena – but the sudden approach of a uniformed police officer caught them both by surprise. He studied them both with a wary expression, one hand resting on his holstered pistol. This was Gotham, after all, and he'd be a fool to underestimate anyone.

"Is there a problem, ladies?" he asked calmly.

"Of course not," Selina said with a bright smile. She slid closer to the police officer with a smooth, slinky grace that he very obviously noted with some approval. When she placed one hand on his chest and blinked seductively at him, he returned her smile with a broad, goofy grin of his own, utterly unaware of her other hand liberating a set of keys from his belt. "My friend and I were just discussing the best place to get a pedicure," Selina added. She glanced over her shoulder.

But Helena was already gone.

She'd backed away from the two as soon as she recognized Selina's seduction gambit, and let the lunch crowd carry her away. In mid-step, she pulled her hair free from the tight tail she'd had it in and removed the sunglasses. Her jacket she slid off her shoulders and quickly balled it up. _Don't look back_, she told herself. _Keep walking. I am in a hurry and have no time to waste._

At the first chance, she ducked into a shop – it was a Starbucks and she ordered an overpriced latte before sliding into an uncomfortable wooden seat that provided an excellent view of the street outside but had even better concealment. The complimentary paper added additional protection and, a minute or two later, when a frowning Selina walked past the shop, she never noticed Helena. Relief set in, though Helena did not relax.

She'd nearly finished her coffee when Karen ducked into the store and joined her. Helena glanced up at the hat and aviator sunglasses her friend was wearing and smirked.

"That might work," she said, "if you weren't twelve feet tall." Karen scowled – at just a shade over six feet tall, she'd always been overly conscious of her height.

"Listen, midget," she said with an annoyed growl, "I'm not the one who just decided to start talking to my mom out there." Helena flushed and glanced away.

"Wasn't the intent," she muttered. "She caught me shadowing dad, who was following you." Helena shook her head. "Would have liked to have known _why_ she was following him around though …"

"I'm more concerned about why he was following _me_," Karen grumbled. She glanced away and narrowed her eyes. Helena followed the direction of her gaze – it was a brick wall, of course – and tensed. "I've got to go," Karen said. She didn't quite blur toward the door, but there was no concealing how quickly she moved. Helena shook her head. Karen would have asked for help if she thought she needed it. Finishing her coffee, Helena stood and exited the shop. There was still a lot of work to do, especially if she and Karen were ever going to get home, or failing that, if Huntress was going to once more stalk Gotham City.

She never noticed the young man in shop across the street discreetly watching her.

/-\

The Cave was normally silent during the day.

Wearing only a pair of sweat-pants and a dark shirt, Bruce stared at the monitors in front of him with rapt attention, as if simply studying the images displayed could unlock their secrets. His day-time excursion had not been entirely wasted, even if Selina very nearly ruined his well-laid plan with her own unannounced stalking. Richard had done well, never drawing even the slightest bit of notice as he followed the dark-haired woman who was, regardless of what her driver's license might read, _not _Helena Bertinelli.

"I lost her somewhere between Finger and Sale," Richard said. His wet hair still showed hints of the reddish dye he'd used to change his appearance. "Pretty sure I saw the blonde babe a little bit later," he continued, "but I didn't stick around to confirm."

"Good." Bruce tapped a key on his keyboard, which immediately brought up a series of images of the 'blonde babe' herself. The photos captured Ms. Karen Starr in various actions – buying a paper, shopping for groceries, and even applying for various jobs – but it was the second group of images that were far more interesting. In those, the blonde woman flew, or used heat vision, or tore through steel with her bare hands. Bullets did nothing to her and, based on firsthand experience, Bruce knew she had some sort of enhanced sensory capability. In short, there was only one thing she could be.

Kryptonian.

Frowning, Bruce leaned back in his seat. Thus far, this woman had operated entirely in the shadows and targeted only criminal enterprises, but still, the presence of a _third _Kryptonian on Earth, one evidently operating without Clark's knowledge, was more than a little worrisome. He hadn't informed Kent about this woman's existence yet mostly because he wasn't sure how he'd take it. Over the last year, she'd tripped nearly all of his very carefully hidden non-terrestrial sensor arrays, which promptly led him to investigate further, especially when both Clark and Kara were accounted for. This inquiry led him to the other girl, the dark-haired one who was not who she claimed to be, but there was something else about this Karen that kept bothering him, something … familiar…

"Is it just me or does she look a lot like Kara?" Richard asked. Bruce blinked. That was it. That was what was bothering him. He frowned.

"She does," he replied. He located the clearest image of the woman's face and dropped it into a folder on his personal server for the facial recognition software. A few additional mouse-clicks and the process was running – in a few minutes, it would map the picture and compare it with the photos he had on file of Clark's cousin. In the meantime, though, he brought up the captures of the dark-haired girl and resumed his study of her recent activity.

Thanks to Barbara's efforts, he had proof that the woman claiming to be the last scion of the late (and frankly unlamented) Bertinelli crime family out of Metropolis wasn't even related to them. For the most part, the woman's forged history was impeccable – there was just enough of a paper trail for it to seem believable, yet no major flaws that would set off any alarms. She'd ostensibly gone to Met-U, where she earned her Bachelor's and Master's in Education – they'd caught a lucky break there, when Barbara learned two of the professors Ms. Bertinelli supposedly learned under still maintained hand-written attendance records; at her direction, Richard then broke into the school and confirmed there wasn't any trace of someone with this woman's name from the time she was supposed to be attending. Attempts to obtain the woman's DNA turned out to be frustratingly difficult – she was at least as paranoid as Bruce himself – and the woman's domicile was rigged with almost as much surveillance as Bruce had in the manor.

"Question," Richard called out from the parallel bars he'd wandered off to. Bruce glanced in his direction. "What has this Helena Bertinelli done that is turning you into a creepy stalker?" He flashed a good-natured grin in Bruce's direction.

"She's working with an unknown Kryptonian in my city," Bruce replied. He pulled up another file – this time, it was a series of purchases made through various dummy companies, all created in the last year. Bits and pieces of highly specialized infantry equipment, riot protection gear, high-tensile decel cable, rappelling gear, flashbangs … put together, they added up to someone who knew what she was doing. Throw in a couple of the other reports he was investigating, mostly centered around a woman in black and purple cutting through some gangs with techniques Bruce himself had perfected, and it was a troubling and confusing picture.

"And the fact she chatted with a certain cat burglar today doesn't bother you?" Richard was grinning broadly as watched Bruce for a reaction – at sixteen, he was very much aware of Selina's physical charms, but rather than lusting after her like he did with far too many of Bruce's other female acquaintances, he'd instead started treating her as if she were his long-lost older sister. To Bruce's further disgust, Selina adored the boy in a similar manner and, in the too few instances she was in the manor, she and Richard spent most of their time laughing and teasing him. He scowled.

Too often. Not too few. She was here too frequently. Damn that woman.

"Don't you have homework to do?" he growled as he minimized the Bertinelli/Starr investigation and glanced at the message from Clark flashing on his screen. Bruce wanted to groan – while he acknowledged the League was both a good idea and a necessity in this world of super-crime, he hated meeting on the Watchtower. He acknowledged the message and then put his system into a power-saver mode. Exhaustion pressed down on him as he pried himself out of his seat – it had been a long night already, and this daylight excursion into the city didn't help. He passed Alfred on his way to bed and didn't bother replying to the older man's question about dinner. By the time his head hit the pillow, Bruce was already asleep.

That evening, he was back in the city, prowling the corner of Finger and Sale. Richard wasn't present for a change – despite it being only April, he'd asked for and received Bruce's permission to hop a flight to Metropolis where he intended to surprise Barbara for her birthday. Guilt churned in Bruce's stomach every time his thoughts drifted toward the former Batgirl; despite the efforts of the best surgeons in the world, the damage inflicted by Joker's bullet left her unable to walk. Clark was researching some promising treatments, though they had not yet borne fruit, and Diana was also looking into some more esoteric methods of healing that neither Bruce nor Barbara fully trusted. The former Batgirl was a Gordon though, and refused to let a disability ruin her life. She was racing through her first semester at the Metropolis University with a course load that would make a lesser woman buckle.

An audible pop behind him made Bruce instinctively wince, though he managed to hide that fact and barely reacted when a dark-haired girl stepped into view. She wasn't dressed for anything but a show – or perhaps an especially kinky date, though he'd never tell her that – and flashed a killer smile at him as she removed that ridiculous top hat she wore everywhere.

"Your taxi has arrived," she said with a smirk. And, despite his best efforts to prevent it, Bruce sighed.

Getting to the Watchtower was, for him, a constant reminder of how frail he truly was when compared to the many other members of the League. Normally, he was forced to rely on the active Earth-based Lantern but with the recent addition of a teleporter like Zatanna to the League's ranks, that harrowing trip was no longer entirely necessary. Unlike Clark, Bruce personally had less difficult accepting the realm of magic – half of what Kent did seemed like something straight out of fairy tales anyway and the other half defied physics as Bruce understood them – but having to rely on a flighty stage magician barely older than Richard or Barbara with whom he had far too much personal history was a recipe for trouble. God help him, he still remembered when she was still wearing pigtails.

Zatanna took his hand, mumbled something in that nonsensical gibberish she used, and the world vanished in a rush of silent thunder. When Bruce opened his eyes again, he almost flinched at the brightness of the Watchtower's lights. This was another reason he disliked visiting this Kryptonian relic – it was hard to be a shadowy figure of terror when there weren't any damned shadows to hide in. Here, he was just a nut with anger management issues, borderline sociopathic tendencies and expensive black combat armor who had an unhealthy attachment to his city.

Bruce frowned. So. That was the kind of mood he was in. He made a mental note to avoid Selina tonight – she never responded well to him when he was like this – and wondered briefly what brought it on in the first place. Shaking his head slightly, he filed it away for later review and followed Zatanna through the oddly-shaped hallways and to a door shaped at least in part like the House of El crest Clark wore. It slid open, revealing the conference room. Already, most of the League was assembled, though it appeared Arthur was absent again, which honestly wasn't a surprise. Even more than Bruce, the Atlantean was uneasy here, orbiting the planet and so far away from home.

At the far end of the conference room was a massive diamond-shaped window that overlooked Earth. Automatically, Bruce's eyes slid toward Zatanna and he barely bit back the smirk at her instinctive if admittedly slight recoil from the view. He wasn't sure if it was an accident or entirely intentional on Kent's part, but the view _always _felt like one was falling toward the planet which was unbelievably disconcerting to the unprepared. Only a handful of League members were completely unaffected by it – Clark, Diana, the Lanterns – and several of the less mature personnel (meaning Hal and Ollie) derived ridiculous amounts of glee over watching newcomers step through that door for the first time.

Standing at the far end of the conference room, facing the viewport and silently arguing, stood Clark and Diana. Kent was still wearing the formal Kryptonian outfit and struck an imposing figure – Bruce noticed Zatanna's posture straighten slightly but decided against telling her not to bother. From personal observation, he'd seen Clark watch only one woman with what could only be considered bedroom eyes and he was involved in a soft disagreement with her now.

"Can we get started?" Bruce growled as he took his seat. His voice modulator was turned off principally because he hated using it here on the Watchtower. Whether it was just natural acoustics or some sort of hidden Kryptonian tech, he always sounded like he'd just finished gargling razor blades dipped in salt and lemon juice. On the rooftops of Gotham, after he'd just broken a mook's face, it sounded appropriate. Here, not so much. "I'd like to be back home before dawn."

"Agreed." Clark ignored the irked look Diana gave him and turned to face the rest of the League. For her part, Diana simply crossed her arms and scowled. "The United Nations has asked me to go to Rimbor to represent Earth in a summit arranged by the Guardians." He went on to explain the purpose of this summit and Bruce quickly realized he was frowning again. Diana also looked displeased – evidently, whatever they had been discussing when Bruce arrived wasn't this if her surprise was any indication – but the rest of the League looked approving. "They're going to put this before the General Assembly tomorrow or the next day," Kent continued, "but I don't expect there will be much trouble getting it passed."

"When do you leave?" Diana asked. It was interesting, Bruce noted, that the other members of the League waited for her to make the first comment. Now that he thought about it, they did that a lot. His frown deepened the instant he realized he was guilty of it as well. Clark glanced toward the two Lanterns.

"Shouldn't take but a day to get there, even if we go really slow," Hal said with a shrug.

"There are preliminary meetings you need to attend, though," John added. "I recommend we leave in two weeks. Two and a half if you absolutely need to stay a little longer for some reason."

"Then clear your schedule for me," Diana ordered. Instantly, Hal exchanged a smirk with Ollie which – thankfully – Diana did not notice. "Your personal combat skills remain deficient. We shall remedy that."

"I do okay," Clark began. Diana shook her head.

"You rely too much on your abilities," she retorted. "This is not up for debate, Kal." Despite his black mood, Bruce struggled against the urge to smile at the look Clark shot her.

Thankfully, the meeting broke up soon after that – everyone was too busy with personal issues or activities to waste time with pointless trivialities for a change, though Bruce didn't know why he had to be here at all for something as simple as this; couldn't he have just teleconferenced in? – and various Leaguers disappeared. Some – the Hawks, the Lanterns, Firestorm – were able to leave under their own power, but those incapable of surviving re-entry clustered together for Zatanna to teleport them Earthside, leaving Bruce alone with Clark and Diana for a few minutes.

"You'll need someone to watch over Metropolis in your absence," Bruce said as the other Leaguers vanished in a subdued pop. "Your enemies will be coming out of the woodwork while you're gone." Clark frowned.

"I will coordinate with Kara to see no harm comes to Metropolis," Diana said calmly.

"Thanks," Clark said. He sighed. "Not looking forward to telling Perry I need even more time off," he muttered.

"You'll also need to speak with J'onn," Bruce interjected. "Just in case this takes longer than expected." Clark nodded, then noticed Diana eyeing him with a frown. "What?"

"I have not yet met this … Martian," she said slowly. Bruce grunted – neither had he actually. As far as he knew, Clark was the only person who had spoken with the man.

"He's not exactly a people person," Clark began. "I'll check with him, see if I can talk him into chatting with you."

"How's Lois taking this?" Bruce asked softly. Over the last several months, Kent had become amazingly silent about the state of his personal life. The veteran of many break-ups, more than a few of which he'd caused and far too many centered on a frustrating thief who came and went as she pleased, Bruce had a pretty good idea why. He wasn't wrong.

"We're … not together anymore," Clark said, glancing away. Diana's head snapped around so quickly that Bruce could swear he almost heard a sonic boom. Emotions flashed across her face – surprise, hope, confusion, hope again, doubt – so quickly that, if he hadn't been discreetly watching her, Bruce wouldn't have seen them at all.

So. Very interesting. That confirmed another of his theories. He wondered if he should say something or if he should just keep his mouth shut. His political instincts argued the former – much of the world adored these two, but together? How quickly would that love turn to fear? – but his brain told him to stay silent. It wasn't as though he was an expert on relationships by any stretch of the imagination. Hell, he still didn't know what to call this … thing he had with Selina, not to mention the confusing mess of emotions centered around Talia.

"This training you want to do," Clark said, returning his attention to a now poised and controlled Diana. "When do you want to get started?"

"As soon as possible," the Amazon replied. "I was not jesting when I spoke poorly of your martial ability." She nodded toward Bruce. "If he had but a third of your abilities," she said, "I fear he would quite handily defeat you." The _pop_ of Zatanna reappearing allowed Bruce to make a quiet exit.

"Ready to go?" the magician he still recalled seeing in pink pajamas asked. He glanced back to where Clark and Diana stood – they were still arguing, with Kent trying to defend his martial prowess and Diana gleefully poking holes in the Kryptonian's ego – and nodded.

"Take me to Gotham," he instructed softly.

/-\

Rimbor was every bit as disgusting as the Lanterns had made it out to be.

The sky alternated between an ugly purple color and an oddly hazy orange, but the worst part was easily the smell. No part of the planet seemed to escape the horrendous stench and Clark spent more time than he would like to admit wearing his solar visor just to escape the urge to vomit. He wasn't sure if it was due to pollution, was a natural part of the planetary environment, or was due to the sheer number of differing alien biologies coming together, but whatever it was, there seemed to be no way to hide from it.

Only one of the planetary continents was urbanized. In the city he where spent most of his time in between meetings, there was no rhyme or reason to the buildings' architecture – he saw skyscrapers that resembled mushrooms or bore onion domes like those in Moscow, and straight rectangles that almost looked like mirrored glass, and weird honeycombed lumps that were connected to each other by long walkways – and the atmosphere was constantly filled with starships and shuttles and aircraft. Entire neighborhoods were covered by flickering energy screens that Clark learned were differing atmospheres.

As it turned out, the reason the other continents were mostly abandoned because they were where the various Trials took place. By the end of the tenth day on Rimbor (which also marked the end of day five of Earth's Acceptance Trial), Clark knew them better than he ever wanted to. The southernmost continent was the most undeveloped, with lush forests and sweeping mountains twice as tall as anything he ever saw on Earth, but by the end of his encounter with the Almeracian champion yesterday, more than half of it was a shattered wasteland. She'd been one of the tougher opponents he'd ever faced, with enhanced strength and telekinetic attacks that freaking hurt nearly as bad as the punches Faora or Zod threw. He still wasn't sure which was more uncomfortable – causing so much destruction or having to face the woman's attempts to get him into bed after he'd been declared the victor, especially in the wake of what happened immediately before he departed Earth.

"Stay safe, Kal," Diana had told him before leaning forward and kissing him. He'd been so shocked at her action that he froze in place for a single heartbeat and then the feel of her lips against his, the soft warmth of her hand on his chest, the smell of her hair … they'd all hit him at once.

And he'd wanted more. Oh, God, had he wanted more.

Diana had pulled away before his brain fully registered what had just happened, her face flushed but as inscrutable as ever. With John Stewart lurking nearby, waiting to carrying him to Rimbor while pretending he had not just seen what happened, Clark knew this wasn't the time to discuss the kiss – at least it hadn't been Hal; Clark knew everyone on the planet would know about it before lunch if Jordan had seen it – but he fully intended to sit down with Diana and find out what was going on the moment he got back home. Was that supposed to be the kind of kiss exchanged between friends? Because if it was, things on Themyscira were a _lot _more interesting than he thought they were. If it wasn't … then what the hell did it mean? Even now, twelve days after the fact, Clark couldn't shake it from his head.

Today was the Khundish champion and Clark expected nothing but dirty tricks. He knew John was in orbit, monitoring the combat but forbidden to intervene if he wanted to maintain Lantern neutrality. Still, nothing the Khunds had brought to the table in their aborted attempts to invade Earth had been especially lethal, at least to him, and they'd never shown much imagination.

He heard the whistle of incoming missiles long before they were actually a threat to him and Clark _pushed _against the planet's local gravity, rocketing up into the sky with a low boom as he broke the sound barrier. Locating the ordinance was easy – there were five of them, all streaking forward at just over Mach Five – and Clark could see the ugly fighter-craft responsible. Already, it was beginning to fire its gun and streaks of light flashed toward him. Orienting toward the fighter, Clark accelerated forward, focusing on the ever-present heat behind his eyes. With fierce explosions, the missiles vanished and he curled around the fireballs, picking up more speed as he did. Tracer fire screamed past him.

Arrowing up, Clark smashed through the fighter's invisible force screen at just over four times the speed of sound. He felt the barrier buckle and collapse – something on the fighter itself exploded at nearly the same moment – but didn't slow his approach. Instead, he stabbed his left hand into the superstructure of the fighter, tearing through the metal. And in that moment, he recognized his mistake.

This fighter was not manned.

The sudden explosion would have vaporized a non-Kryptonian and it certainly did not feel good to him either. Raw kinetic energy threw him into a mountainside and he struck with a ground-shaking boom. Grimacing, he shook his head to clear it – _moron, _he snarled at himself; he was acting without thinking again – before throwing himself back into the sky. He found four more of the fighters incoming – they were unmanned as well – and a quick scan with his enhanced senses located the origin point of the Khundish signal transmission. It was well over three hundred miles away, nearly on the other side of the southern continent, but Clark surged upward, streaking by the incoming drone fighters so quickly they could not do anything but observe his passage.

He reached the Khundish command vehicle in moments and, with an almost casual effort, peeled its doors open. The warrior inside fired a dozen times with his sidearm and then, when it ran empty, inexplicably threw it at Clark, as if that would finally stop him. He caught the weapon in his left hand, crushed it to useless slag and tossed it back.

"I yield, Kryptonian," the Khund snarled angrily. Clark nodded slightly and glanced to the orange sky, waiting for the flare announcing a victory. When it did not come, he looked back at the Khund whose eyes had widened. "I said I yield!" the champion exclaimed. He backed away from Clark, as if he was afraid for his life.

"I don't plan on killing you," Clark said. The translation matrix built into his hard-suit automatically converted his words into Khundish. He cocked his head suddenly, frowning at a distant noise. That sounded like …

"Is that thunder?" the Khund asked hesitantly. Clark frowned.

"No." He crouched. "Get to safety," he ordered before _pushing _once more against Rimbor's planetary gravity. He streaked up into the sky, his senses straining to detect the source of the shockwaves he could detect. With a flick of his wrist, he deployed his solar visor. "Lantern," he said into the comm-line, "this is Superman." A shriek of static answered him and he winced.

That distraction was very nearly fatal.

A streak of gray flashed through the upper atmosphere, traveling so quickly that the very air around it burned, and collided with him before Clark even realized the threat was incoming. Caught unprepared, he was sent tumbling, the armored monster barely an arm's length away and pounding away with massive fists covered in heavy armor and protrusions. They smashed through a mountain – the shockwave from their impact alone shattered another of the great peaks – and Clark barely clung to consciousness as thousands of tons of rock tumbled down around them. The monster rose, roaring something unintelligible, and heaved great slabs of the disintegrating mountain at him.

His vision swimming, Clark retaliated without thinking, blurring forward and slamming both hands into the beast's craggy face. There was no finesse to his attack, no grace or skill, only raw power, and it sent the monster flying backward into another mountain. The earth trembled. The sky blackened as great plumes of powdered rock flew.

But the monster did not fall.

Instead, it sprang back toward him, unlimbering some sort of massive mace-like weapon that sparked and glowed. Clark concentrated – white hot heat ripped from his eyes – and threw himself to the side, narrowly dodging the giant's wild, overhand blow. The weapon struck the mountain with a deafening boom, but the beast dragged his club free from the collapsing rock and swung again. This time, Clark let Diana's training guide him – he slid forward, ducking in close to the monster so he could grab its arm and use the beast's own momentum against him. With a surprised squawk, the monster tumbled through the sky.

Clark pursued.

His foe seemed incapable of flight so Clark shamelessly abused his advantage. He darted in behind the monster and struck again. For the first time in a very long time – since Darkseid, actually – he did not pull any of his punches and the impact of his blow threw the beast toward ground where it cratered. The resulting explosion was horrific, but to Clark's surprise, the monster staggered to its feet, shaking its head in what looked to be an attempt to clear it. With another roar, it crouched and threw itself up at him. At the last instant, Clark slipped to the side, ducking under the creature's surprisingly fast blow and then bringing his knee up into the monster's jaw. His knee struck like thunder – teeth shattered, blood flew and something that looked a lot like a tongue tumbled away. This time, the beast's howl was one of pain, but Clark darted away, _pushing _against Rimbor to put some distance between himself and the now falling monster. He waited until it hit the ground before blurring down and forward.

He struck at just over Mach One, the impact carrying the gray-skinned thing back into another avalanche of stone. Already expecting a rapid counter-attack, Clark threw himself back into the sky, pouring his heat vision into the area surrounding the beast's impact point. Rock melted under the onslaught and ran like liquid mercury, and when the monster staggered clear, its entire body smoked and hissed. Screaming a roar that shook the ground, it took three steps and jumped.

Blurring to the side, Clark danced around the beast, still raking it with heat that barely seemed to do more than inconvenience the damned thing. In mid-jump, rage and frustration on its face, the thing half-twisted and hurled the club at him, but Clark side-slipped out of the way, then thought better of it and darted toward the weapon. He caught it with one hand – dear God, it was heavy! – and then readjusted his hold on it so he was using both hands, never taking his eyes off the monster, now landing. There were two things he figured could happen – the thing would try to jump again or it would attempt to remotely trigger some sort of self-destruct on the weapon in which case Clark fully intended on throwing the club right back at the monster.

It chose the former.

He could see the instant it recognized its mistake, but by then, Clark had already taken a batter's stance four hundred feet in the air. As the beast tried desperately to alter his trajectory, Clark floated toward it and then swung with everything he had.

With a boom that shattered the club, he knocked the monster straight into an even larger mountain. The force of impact lit up the sky like a nuclear bomb and a heartbeat later, a shockwave smashed into Clark. He _pushed _against it, discarding the fragments of the mace-thing as he struggled to maintain his position in the air all the while trying very hard to ignore how wobbly his muscles felt. Narrowing his eyes, he scanned the tumbling rocks with his enhanced vision. He found the monster a moment before it pushed aside an especially large slab of rock and began pulling itself out.

"Oh, come on!" Clark snarled. He blurred forward once more, slamming into the partially buried thing with a thunderous boom. It staggered, unable to avoid taking the full brunt of the blow, but did not fall and instead, retaliated with a lightning fast backhand that caught Clark on the jaw. His vision swam, but he lunged forward, his fists flashing so quickly they looked to be a solid wall of light. He heard rather than saw the rest of the mountain begin tumbling down around them, but ignored it as he kept punching.

And then, finally, with an explosive groan, the beast toppled.

His breath coming in ragged gasps and his entire body aching, Clark took several quick steps back, not dropping his guard in the event his enemy was faking. His muscles felt like rubber and he had to blink away droplets of blood from a still leaking cut above his eye. The feel of cold air against exposed flesh let him know just how badly his hard-suit was damaged. If this was any indication of what was in store for him with these Trials, the rest were going to suck.

"Impressive." The voice was low and dark, like granite rubbing grinding together, and Clark recognized it instantly. He half-spun to face it.

But agony unlike anything he'd ever experienced sent him to the ground.

He screamed. His armor, already splintered, fell apart, bursting into flame from the intensity of the blast. Clark felt his skin blister, could smell his hair catch on fire, could taste only heat and pain. The agony doubled and then trebled. He couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't …

"Apart from myself," the voice rumbled, "no one has ever bested Kalibak in single combat." There was a darkly amused tone to the voice as it drew closer. "You should be proud, Kal-El."

More pain came then, washing away coherence. Clark trembled on the precipice of complete oblivion. Something colder than anything he'd ever felt touched his neck and stayed there. The agony ebbed.

"He is secured, Master," a malevolent voice hissed.

"Then we are ready for transport." Something lifted Clark up.

"And this one?" another voice called out.

"I have no use for those who fail me," the first voice rumbled. "Do with him as you will, Desaad." There was another whisper of movement and then, a titanic boom. "We return to Apokolips."

Darkness beckoned and Clark let it take him.

/-\

Hal Jordan was bored.

In his well-traveled opinion, there was nothing less exciting than sitting around with the other members of the League and listening to the alpha dogs – Bats and Fish Boy right now – bicker over something that no one else gave a damn about. If it wasn't Bats, Hal would have blown this stupid meeting off and made himself scarce, maybe by cruising out to Jupiter or Saturn and doing something with the ring the Guardians would throw a fit about, but Bats was Mr. Scary, himself, with the black cape and armor and ability to make you wet yourself with just a look even though Hal knew he shouldn't be worried. He had the universe's most dangerous weapon on his finger. What the hell could Bats do? It still pissed Hal off that the jerk scared the snot out of him.

In Kal-El's absence, Bats and Aquafresh were butting heads in what was clearly an attempt to establish dominance, but to Hal, having seen the exact behavior with Khunds, their entire argument was a colossal waste of time. He glanced sideways to where Barry sat and was unsurprised to see his buddy appear to be bored as ever. Hal smirked the instant he noticed the coffee cup in front of Flash inexplicably move around on the table in between eye blinks and then completely vanish entirely - he wondered if anyone else realized Barry was getting up and leaving the table, then coming back before the human eye could even notice it.

"Enough." Diana's tone was firm and unyielding, and the two men wisely shut up. In Supes' absence, there was never any doubt who was the big cheese, even if officially she wasn't the team leader. "Both of your points are well made," she continued, giving the two men a quelling frown when they drew breath to resume arguing their positions. It was enough – they both glowered but kept their mouths shut. Hal wondered if it was because she was the hottest woman he'd ever seen – as much as he loved Carol, he'd cut off his own arm to do very naughty things to Wonder Babe and he knew from firsthand observation that every single male Leaguer felt the same way, even Barry who might as well be dead thanks to that evil woman, Iris – or if it was because she could kick both of their asses.

At the same time. Blindfolded. Hal almost smiled at the mental image.

"We shall table this discussion until a more appropriate time," the princess said before turning her eyes toward Dinah. She began talking about something else Hal could care less about and he mentally divorced part of his active mind from the dull as dishwater meeting. It was a trick he'd learned on Oa – the logical, focused part of him continued to pay attention while he devoted the bulk of his mental faculties to other, more important matters, like imagining what Wonder Woman looked like naked. Okay, that wasn't entirely true – he was also reviewing the latest Sector reports his ring pumped directly into his brain in an attempt to determine where next hotspot would most likely be so he could head it off before it got really ugly or out of hand, not to mention composing his latest report to the Guardians about recent activities in the Sector, plus there was the always possible chance he'd need to defend himself in a tribunal regarding his worrisome ties with the Star Sapphire Corps. Carol was free of their influence for a change, but having wielded the power of a Lantern, Hal knew it would be hard for her to completely turn her back on the Sapphires if they offered her a place in their ranks once more. He wondered what he would do if she said yes. He glowered abruptly. She hadn't said yes when _he'd _offered her a ring. Was it because it was just a boring diamond?

His ring pulsed.

Hal was out of his seat and flashing toward the airlock before his divided consciousness fully registered the motion and returned to normal. He heard Diana call out to him, saw Barry flicker in and out of sight around him, but his instincts had taken completely over. By the time he reached the airlock, the ring had already erected the protective armor that would be necessary for an emergency hyper-jump. He darted through the hatch almost before it opened and, with a brilliant flash of emerald light, he streaked away from Earth at superluminal speeds. His ring pulsed again and he ground his teeth together. Every member of the Corps knew this alert by heart and _none _of them ever wanted to receive it.

Lantern in distress.

Digging deep, Hal focused on speed. There was no time. A brother or sister Lantern needed help. Pain stabbed through his skull but his speed, already a hundred times the speed of light, doubled. Tripled. Tripled again. And again. His muscles quivered and the armor trembled.

Reality tore as he flashed back into realspace long moments later. Automatically, he swatted aside the broken wreck of an Almeracian cruiser with a casual swipe of emerald energy fashioned in the shape of a giant hand. There were hundreds of such ships, all from different races and all blown apart from weapons-fire, drifting in orbit over a blackened, scorched world. Hal sent a rapid, omni-directional pulse of questing energy and frowned at the results: his ring did not recognize the decaying energy signature responsible for the destruction of these vessels. None of them had destroyed each other. As impossible as it seemed, they looked to have been fighting together against an unknown enemy.

A second flash of emerald light signified the arrival of another Lantern answering the distress signal – instantly, Hal's ring identified the newcomer as Tomar-Re. As one, they both instinctively oriented toward the origin of the alert. Hal glanced around – for some reason, this place looked familiar. Catching his curiosity, his ring instantly updated his mental star-charts and Hal's breath caught.

Rimbor. This was _Rimbor!_

Tomar-Re reached the Lantern in distress first, but Hal was there barely a second later. Anger coursed through him at the sight before him – John was alive, but just barely. Both of his arms were broken and his left leg was simply gone from the knee down. The former Marine's face was a mottled mass of bruises and burns. His ring-generated armor flickered and pulsed, a certain indication that it was very nearly depleted. Automatically, Hal reached forward, touching his ring to John's. He felt the sudden drain of power, but with two Lanterns – Flash. Flash. Flash. – correction: with five active Lanterns in-system, Hal was confident that they could handle anything.

"His injuries are severe," Tomar-Re announced after consulting his own scan. "His ring automatically placed him in emergency hibernation."

"John's tough," Hal growled. He concentrated and quickly erected a protective barrier, complete with comfortable hospital bed, around his fellow human. "I'll get him to Oa."

"And then return," Tomar-Re said grimly. The Xudarian surveyed the destruction before sighing. "We will need your assistance in containing this incident." Hal nodded – the signatories of the Rimbor Accords would want revenge for this and there was a better than even chance they would start shooting at each other within the week.

Wrapping another thought construct around himself and John, Hal hurtled out of the system toward the nearest warp point. Behind him, he could sense Tomar-Re assuming command of the Lanterns as they went to work investigating the destruction. His eyes drifted toward John's battered form – what the hell could do that to a Lantern? Dear God, even Abin Sur hadn't looked this bad when he fell into Hal's life so long ago – and he concentrated on more speed. Something tickled at the back of his brain, something important, but John's medical needs took precedence over everything else.

In his urgency, he was halfway to Oa before he remembered that John had not been the only member of the League on Rimbor.

* * *

**A/N #2: **The outfit Kal is wearing in the first scene is identical to Jor-El's ceremonial armor. I saw a neat photo-manip that put Henry Cavill's head on Jor-El's body in the cool armor and really liked the look. Still, Clark hates wearing it.

I know that canonically Selina's mom isn't name Helena, but screw canon.

Before it's asked, yeah, the Almeracian referenced probably was Maxima.

Although they are pretty far from the same character, I mentally envisioned this universe's version of Kalibak looking like Doomsday, mostly because Kalibak frankly looks kind of silly. As I have no intention of ever using Doomsday - don't like him because he was created solely to kill Supes, which I consider lazy writing - that works for me.

Also, if you want to know my personal mental image of Diana, I urge you to Google "Donna Feldman." Dear Lord, that woman is gorgeous.

Finally, as much as I honestly didn't like the _Green Lantern_ movie (thought it was a complete mess), I will admit that I _am _kind of mentally thinking of Ryan Reynolds as Hal. And probably Idris Elba as John Stewart. Because Idris Elba is awesome. And he canceled the apocalypse.


	9. Year Nine: Gauntlets

**Year Nine: Gauntlets**

**Author's Note: **Dear SM/LL Guest reviewer who left the anonymous "review". No one likes a troll. I'm trying to see where the "hate" is in this story but then I remember that isn't relevant, not to a troll like you.

By the way? This chapter is dedicated to you. Sincerely, Me.

* * *

**Missing Reporter Believed Dead**

_Published January 23, 2021 / Steve Lombard_

SHIRUTA, KAHNDAQ – United Nations observers said Monday one of the American reporters who was kidnapped three months ago is believed to be dead.

According to the reports, gunmen kidnapped Clark Kent, 41, Friday along with three employees of a pro-regime TV station covering the violence in the Shiruta suburb of al-Tal. These three later appeared in an online video, saying they were being held by rebel forces who were treating them well.

Kent was a freelance journalist most recently affiliated with the Daily Planet who entered Kahndaq to investigate allegations regarding the use of banned chemical weapons in the civil war, now entering its sixth year.

**Click for more from Daily Planet Online**

/-\

LOIS LANE DIDN'T KNOW WHETHER TO LAUGH OR CRY.

Standing in the doorway of her apartment, she stared at the mess within. For only the briefest of seconds, she was afraid she'd been robbed, but her eyes quickly fell on the unmoving form slumped over on her couch. Diana's hair was still wet and she was dressed in the black bodysuit she'd taken to wearing underneath her golden armor. The breastplate and hardened skirt – the whole kit was properly called a panoply, according to experts, though Lois didn't know why they refused to simply call it armor – was carefully laid out on the floor in front of the couch, but much of it was still covered with the goop Lois remembered seeing Toyman spray all over Diana. According to his mocking diatribe, it was expected to be strong enough to cement her in place while he went on his merry way.

It hadn't been remotely strong enough to contain her rage.

The news stations were still running with Diana's furious assault – according to the last reports Lois had listened in the cab, Schott was in intensive care although hospital staff believed he would eventually make a recovery. No one interviewed or reporting honestly seemed to give a damn if he lived or died, but that wasn't an especially big surprise as this latest spree of his had claimed the lives of four children, all under the age of ten. When Diana ripped the offensive little troll out of his ruined robot exo-suit, it seemed like the entire city held its collective breath, as if they were waiting to see what she would do. If had been Superman, there wouldn't have been any question, but this was the Amazon Princess herself, who carried a sword or spear and had demonstrated a willingness to use it against the various aliens who sought to invade her world.

But Diana had not killed the little monster, and instead had handed his barely conscious butt over to the Special Crimes Unit before going straight to work assisting the public works people. There were fires to help put out, smashed cars to relocate, trapped citizens to free and injured to attend. From her desk at the Planet, Lois had watched all of the live reports, wondering if Diana was intentionally trying to emulate Clark. For the last eight months, she'd served Metropolis exactly like he had, swooping in to smash apart bank robberies, or stop the latest mad scientist from blowing up the planet, or just to rescue kittens from trees, and the whole world had noticed. That she adopted the black bodysuit at the same time Kal-El was declared missing in action by the Lanterns was yet another thing that caused gossip – was she grieving over a lost lover, the questions went, or was this some strange Amazon custom she refused to explain? Through it all, Diana smiled and kept her head held high, as if unmoved by all of it.

Seeing her like this, though, so utterly exhausted that she didn't even hear anyone enter, caused Lois to sigh. Clark's absence had encouraged the nuts to come out of the woodwork and not a day passed that Diana didn't have to deal with yet another threat. It was a daily gauntlet she had to run and she was beginning to pay the price. Everyone and their insane brother wanted to test her, to see if she was equal to the task once handled by Metropolis' favorite son.

Hanging up her coat, Lois carefully navigated through the landmine of gear. She'd given Diana permission to use her apartment whenever necessary – far too many of the nutjobs in the city seemed to favor horribly messy plans and the Amazon quite frequently needed to clean up in the aftermath – but this was the first time the situation was quite this bad. She glanced once more at Diana, her lips quirking, and then reached for her phone.

Her first call was to Kara to arrange for Clark's cousin to take over patrolling for the rest of the evening – the magic phrase was 'Princess Diana needs rest' and Kara nearly fell over herself agreeing to do so, which always made Lois grin. Once that call ended, she made another call to cancel her date – it wouldn't do for Diana to meet him, not yet, not while the Amazon was so clearly too tired to think straight. There would be questions that frankly no one was ready for. Finally, she called another number, one that only a handful of people had.

"It's me," she said the instant the line was picked up. "Do you know if Diana is on monitor duty tonight?"

"She's supposed to be," Bruce Wayne replied. As was always the case when she talked to him, Lois felt a frisson of giddiness crawl up her spine. Just knowing that the man she'd once lambasted as symptomatic of everything wrong about Gotham City was in truth the scariest man alive made her fingers ache with the urge to write his story. She'd never violate his trust, of course, not after Clark went out on a limb and vouched for her, but dammit, she was tempted. "Why?"

"Because she's passed out on my couch," Lois said simply. She smirked into the phone. "I walked in the door, made three phone calls, and she hasn't even moved." Wayne grunted.

"I'll see to it," he muttered before disconnecting. Rolling her eyes at his lack of social graces, Lois tossed her phone onto her desk.

"Jerk," she muttered under her breath. Shaking her head, she paid a quick visit to her bedroom where she grabbed a light blanket to drape over the slumbering Amazon. "I hope you don't roll over in your sleep like Clark did," she murmured, remembering all too well how easily he'd broken her last couch while asleep. If she'd needed another reminder that he wasn't quite human, that would have worked wonders.

Retiring to her desk, Lois booted up her laptop and quickly put Diana out of her mind. She was pretty certain that this latest piece on government malfeasance – honestly, what kind of idiot governor agreed to let Lex Freaking Luthor have an iPad? He might as well have given Luthor the keys to the front door of the prison! Was it any wonder that madman escaped? – was going to give Perry a coronary so she wanted to make sure it was worded exactly right.

The sound of Diana stirring a few hours later snapped Lois out of a riveting online exchange with one of her regular sources inside LC-Tech. Previously known as LexCorp, the new board of directors had scrambled to rebrand the company when their CEO was arrested for mass murder, but so far, their efforts to keep the once mighty corporation from being nibbled to death wasn't working. WayneTech was currently in a bidding war with at least three other companies to gobble up another arm of the once mighty LexCorp, and that was just the beginning.

"Good evening," Lois said as Diana sat up. The Amazon blinked the sleep out of her eyes and looked around, momentary confusion vanishing behind sheepish embarrassment. Lois gave her a grin. "Feeling better?"

"A bit," Diana replied. She rose and Lois couldn't help but to notice with poorly hidden envy that the Amazon didn't even have bed hair. How unfair was that? It was bad enough she still looked young enough to pass as Lois' daughter despite being older than Grandma Lane. "I apologize for the inconvenience," Diana began, but Lois waved it off.

"You tangled with Parasite this morning," she said. "And then Schott showed up." Diana's face briefly contorted with fury, but she looked away, inhaled deeply and smoothed her expression out. That was interesting – evidently, the anger toward Toyman had not abated like Lois thought it had – and the journalist inside her filed the observation away. "He'll live, by the way," Lois remarked.

"How fortuitous for him." Diana's voice was cold and hard.

"Wow," Lois murmured, eying the Amazon in a new light. "He really got under your skin, didn't he?"

"Those children were blameless," Diana said tightly. "They were _innocent_ and that monster … he deserves to die for what he did."

"So why didn't you kill him?" Too late, Lois heard the reporter in her voice and not the friend. From the sidelong look Diana gave her, she wasn't the only one.

"Am I being interviewed, Ms. Lane?" Diana asked wryly. She continued before Lois could respond. "I did not kill him because I do not have that right. He violated Metropolis' laws and should answer to Metropolis' courts." Her eyes hardened. "I can only hope they will judge him harshly for his crimes." Lois leaned back in her seat as Diana began doing stretching exercises.

"You sound like Clark," she said, the words causing the other woman to smile softly.

"I shall take that as a compliment," Diana replied. She shook her head. "I must admit," she continued, "he did influence my thinking in that regard." Lois nodded her understanding – she couldn't remember how many times she'd heard him say something similar in public when questioned why he did not take the law into his own hands. And then later, in private, he would go into greater detail.

"Society doesn't tolerate rogue cops who routinely kill the people they take into custody," he would say. "No matter how badly I want to rip someone apart for what they've done or find a way to throw them into the Phantom Zone for the rest of eternity, I know that I can't, not if I'm going to set the right example, not if I'm going to hold onto Mankind's trust."

"Is he ever coming back?" Lois asked softly. Diana tensed immediately – she always did in the rare times their discussions turned toward him, though Lois did not know why. Oh, she had a few theories, but wasn't sure if vocalizing them was wise. It had been hard enough on the both of them when they were forced to seek out J'onn to help "dispose" of Clark Kent for the time being. Once he got back – _if _he got back – there were a hundred different ways the intrepid Mister Kent could be resurrected, but right now, with Luthor once more free, they couldn't afford any loose ends.

"The Lanterns are still searching for him when they can spare the resources," she replied, her eyes distant. "They are stretched thin, though," Diana added, "trying to contain this senseless war."

"A war," Lois interjected in an irritated tone, "that no one has really bothered to explain." Diana glanced at her. "The official line I keep hearing from the UN is that the Rimbor Accords broke down and that some of the signatories are at war, but no one has explained which ones or…"

"_All_ of them are at war," Diana said. "That compact was the only thing keeping them from each other's throats and now that Rimbor is an irradiated wasteland, _all _of them are trying to obliterate their rivals." She took a carefully measured step, placing herself in the center of the room. As she glanced to the floor on either side of her, Lois suddenly realized the arrangement of her panoply was clearly intentional. "The Khunds are trying to kill the Vuldarians," Diana said with a frown. "The Almeracians hate the Tamaraneans who hate the Czarnians, and the Dominators hate everyone. With no one to check them, they attack." With another quick visual check, she floated up off the floor, clashed her bracers together and quickly threw her arms out. Instantly, the armor sprang up from the floor, untouched, and flew into place upon Diana's body. Metal flowed like liquid in some places, molding together until there was a seamless union. Barely a second passed before she was once more ready for battle.

"That is so neat," Lois said with a delighted smile.

"Kal hates it," Diana replied. "Eight years I have known him," she said with a shake of her head, "and still he refuses to admit magic can and does exist." Lois smirked.

"He has a pretty hard head," she said before grinning. "You got dressed in front of him a lot, then?" She saw the instant Diana recognized the implication.

"You are not as amusing as you think," Diana said flatly. "Again, I apologize for abusing your hospitality," she started to say. Lois interrupted her.

"Just bring me some of that alien beer the next time," she said. Diana chuckled as she strode toward the bay window.

"An entire case," the Amazon promised. She paused. "If you wish to quote me about Schott," Diana said, her voice once more the unyielding tone of a royal born, "you may do so. Had this happened on Themyscira, I would have taken his head and lost no sleep over it." She turned her unblinking gaze upon Lois. "There are times," she said, "when allowing monsters to continue living ceases being a civilized act and instead becomes madness." Lois nodded – as a staunch opponent of capital punishment, she did not entirely agree with that assertion, but then, she was not the one who had discovered the bodies of those poor victims. Would she had shown Schott even a hint of the mercy that Diana had?

A moment later, she was alone in the apartment once more.

/-\

The crisp January air did more to revive her than the hours on Lois' couch.

Diana soared quietly through the darkness, content to simply let the peaceful night wash away all of her troubles. When she'd agreed to watch over Metropolis, she'd thought it would be a simple task, one that she could fit in alongside the rest of her duties, both as de facto leader of the League and as Princess of Themyscira, but instead, overwatch of the city was becoming her primary job. Just being able to glide through the sky without a destination in mind or a driving goal was unbelievably calming. It was both amusing and frustrating that these too infrequent moments where she could simply enjoy the gift of flight always brought Kal to mind.

And just like that, her good mood vanished.

Eight months. It hardly seemed that long, but eight long, miserable months had passed since he disappeared and still, no one knew where he'd gone or who was responsible for the destruction of Rimbor. There were remarkably few clues – the Khundish champion had admitted Kal easily defeated him before getting into a pitched battle with a monster straight out of nightmares, but the Khund had wisely sought shelter as the two titans leveled an entire mountain range. By the time the Khund was dragged out of his hole, it was over and the Lanterns were in-system. None of the destroyed starships had been destroyed by conventional weapons and the evidence pointed toward them working together against an unknown foe, which made the current shooting wars between those vessels' mother races even more senseless. The only person who _might _be able to shed some light on what happened was John Stewart and he remained in a coma thanks to the crippling injuries he'd sustained. A temporary replacement had been appointed by the Guardians – Guy Gardner was a thoroughly repulsive human being about whom Diana had very few positive thoughts – until Stewart woke. If he woke.

Glancing around, Diana suddenly realized where she was and heaved a heavy sigh. Despite her best efforts, her subconscious clearly knew she could not shirk the duties resting upon her shoulders. She'd intended to have Donna do this, but with her cousin spending so much time in Seattle with the rest of Richard's team of Titans, the opportunity had simply not arisen. With Kara watching over Metropolis at the moment – Diana reminded herself to thank Lois again the next time she saw her – now was a perfect time to do this.

Gotham was almost eerily silent as she dropped down through the clouds, but given Bruce's recent behavior, that wasn't too terrible a surprise. His new … apprentice (for lack of a better word) was much harsher than Richard ever was, which Diana actually thought to be a bad thing. There was so much darkness in Bruce's life, especially now that he and Ms. Kyle appeared to have ended their relationship once again, and he needed the light and enjoyment of life that Richard had brought. This new Robin … Diana had her doubts about the boy. He was strong but not tough, and with so much anger…

She orbited the city twice, whispering her need to the birds and beasts, until finally, she had a trail. It almost made her laugh that the birds knew not where he was, but the bats did. Curling down through the air, she landed lightly on the building he stood atop. He scowled at her but offered no greeting.

So she waited.

Patience was easy for an immortal, but she had to admit, Bruce excelled at it as well. He stood silently, staring down at the city in utter silence, though Diana was certain she could hear the muted buzz of soft radio intercepts, likely between police officers, from his cowl. Finally, he shifted his attention briefly in her direction.

"Why are you in Gotham?" he demanded. The modulator built into his suit turned his voice into something barely human-sounding but still completely understandable. Out here, under the open sky, it worked much better than on the Watchtower. Diana frowned at him.

"You need to work on your manners," she said as she extracted a flash-drive from her belt. "Here are the technical specs you wanted." For the first time, he showed interest as he reached for it. "Kelor was certain you should be able to replicate most of them with human technology."

"Of course I will." Bruce slid the drive into one of the numerous storage cylinders on his belt. Diana crossed her arms.

"Dare I guess what you intend to use it for?"

"Lighter but stronger ceramics," Bruce said. "More durable fibers. Tougher armor." He flashed a very brief smile that looked odd on his face. "If Clark and I hadn't wasted so much time trying to retrofit a Kryptonian hard-suit to accept a human genetic code, I would have done this years ago." Diana almost rolled her eyes.

"Have you considered _my _offer?" she asked. "Hephaestus could forge you a suit-"

"No." Bruce returned his eyes to the city. "I've read enough mythology to know that gifts from Olympians always come with a very heavy price." Abruptly, he tensed and crouched; without thinking, Diana followed suit. She gave him a questioning glance that he ignored. "As I suspected," he murmured. Glancing over the lip of the building, Diana saw nothing out of place for a moment, but a heartbeat later, a purple-clad figure vanished over a rooftop. Smirking, she glanced at him.

"I think even in Gotham this classifies as stalking," she remarked. When he glowered, her smiled deepened. "Have you considered simply knocking on Ms. Kyle's door and talking to her?"

"That isn't Selina," Bruce growled. He rose slowly and Diana straightened alongside him. "She calls herself Huntress."

"And no one operates in your city but you," Diana mocked, intentionally deepening her voice into a very poor imitation of him. Once again, Bruce scowled.

"You're in an odd mood," he grumbled. Diana's smiled faded.

"I am exhausted," she admitted. "My mother always accuses me of becoming giddy when I am tired." She exhaled deeply. "I am concerned that I may have made a mistake in assuming watch over Kal's city," she said after a moment. Bruce glanced at her. "In addition to dealing with _his _enemies, I've drawn my own to Metropolis." Diana grimaced at the memory of how much trouble Circe had caused last week when the witch decided it would be amusing to transform every police officer into swine; by the time she'd been stopped, half of the League was needed to help contain the riots.

"You're the new sheriff in town," Bruce growled. "They'll keep testing you for a while, but things will get better." As if to mock him, the Bat-Signal suddenly lit up, reflecting off the surface of the WayneTech building and casting a strange light over the city. Diana gave it a brief glance before looking at him. His lips tightened – as smart as Bruce was, she knew he had to see the irony of this moment – and he remained silent for moment longer. Finally, he spoke. "Go home, Diana," he said. "Get some sleep." Taking a step closer to the edge of the building, he manipulated something under his cape, likely a concealed remote control of some sort. How he loved his toys. "Things will look better when you've rested."

And, without another word, he dove over the side of the tower.

Had she looked, Diana suspected she would have seen his cape stiffen which would allow him to glide toward a waiting vehicle, but she did not. Instead, she turned away and climbed up into the sky herself, accelerating quickly but not quite breaking the sound barrier until she was high enough that it would not cause damage. With Hephaestus' invisible shield wreathing her, she flew northward – Gotham was almost equidistant between Kal's Fortress and Themyscira, and right now, Diana was in no mood to be lectured to by her mother about how Kal's possible death was the best thing for all parties involved.

She reached the Fortress long minutes later, touching down and pausing to study the landscape. The sheer stark beauty took her breath away and Diana stared at it for a long moment. It was not her preferred place of solitude – that would likely always be Themyscira, with its sandy beaches and soothing fields – but in these moments, when wanted to be completely and utterly alone, when the pressures of the world seemed especially unrelenting, she could understand why Kal came here so often. A soft hiss of a door opening warned her that she was no longer alone, but the muted hum following the sound identified the newcomer as one of the servitor robots. It would be Kelor – for some reason, she was always greeted or assisted by the more feminine-sounding robot rather than Kelex. This fact amused Kara, though the young girl refused to explain why and Diana was mildly afraid to insist. She had a niggling suspicion the artificial intelligence controlling the servitors had decided she was the mistress of the Fortress and was treating her accordingly. Given Kara's steadfast refusal to spend any more time here than was absolutely necessary – "it is just enough like home to remind me of Krypton yet different enough to be jarring," the young woman said when asked – and Diana's tendency to retreat here in the all too frequent times she was arguing with her mother, that would make perfect sense.

"Greetings, Mistress," Kelor said calmly. "May I be of assistance?"

"Not tonight," Diana replied. She floated through the open doorway, followed by the humming robot. "I am retiring," she added. "Alert me if the Watchtower requires assistance or Kara makes contact." She offered her League communicator to the servitor and it accepted it.

"Compliance, Mistress." Recognizing a dismissal, the astounding device pulled away from her and Diana continued her familiar route to what was originally the captain's quarters. Once, this had been Kal's room and, in fact, there were still numerous indications of his personality – the framed football jersey signed by every member of the 2016 Metropolis Spartans; a half dozen photographs of his parents; his personal guitar, which he constructed himself and used infrequently to maintain his dexterity – but ever since she'd started sleeping here after his departure to Rimbor, more and more pieces of her life had crept in. There was a pair of straight-swords, forged by Hephaestus himself, propped up in the far corner; the small well-carved idols of her patron gods; the absurdly over-priced but astoundingly comfortable robe Bruce had given to her as a gift last month; and, of course, the armor stand. Yawning softly, Diana paused before the stand, and then clashed her bracers together. Instantly, her panoply slid off the black undersuit, but rather than clattering to the ground, instead secured itself in its proper place. Already, the stains from Schott's madness was vanishing and would be gone by tomorrow.

"Bless me, my patrons," Diana murmured automatically as she paused before the icons. "Watch over me as I surrender myself to the realm of Morpheus." She pulled the under-garment free – it came loose from her body without difficulty and reformed into a shapeless mess. Frowning, she studied it for a moment; it was a gift from Hephaestus intended to provide even greater protection – Donna possessed one as well, though she refused the accompanying armor – and Diana had donned it without thinking. Wearing the black was not meant to represent mourning, but Patriarch's World took it as such. Should she replace it with something more suitable? It was a question for a later time. "Guide me back to the land of the living when I wake." She discarded the formless undersuit and floated toward the bed. Sliding under the covers, she closed her eyes.

She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

/-\

The clone hit her so hard that Kara almost blacked out.

She hit Metropolis Bay at somewhere around two hundred miles per hour, bouncing and skipping along the surface for at least fifty meters before she could snap out of the daze and finally assert some control over her uncontrolled tumble. _Pushing _hard against Earth's gravity, she skidded to a stop and then rose up into the sky, her enhanced senses already straining to locate the thing that wore Kal-El's face but wasn't her cousin. She found it instantly – face contorted in rage, it sprang toward her, jumping and bouncing but somehow, unable to actually fly. Dressed entirely in white, it wore a crimson House of El seal upon its chest but the fury, the hatred, the insanity on its face was out of place on its face.

Helicopters circled overhead – Kara could hear the rapid conversations taking place between the police officers and the reporters as they questioned whether their 'Superman' had returned – but she ignored them as she scanned the environs for something that could be used as a weapon against this creature. To her eyes, there was no hiding that this was a clone – its exposed skin was too slick, too new to be older than a year, maybe two – but she recognized Kal-El's enemy, Luthor, as the puppet master here. Twice before he'd unleashed monsters crafted from Kryptonian genetic material, and each time, it had required a Kryptonian to stop them. She grimaced, balled up her fist and focused on the heat behind her eyes.

The twin beams lanced across the bay, stabbing into the clone with minimal results, though that was actually intentional on her part and Kara grinned tightly when the white-garbed creature howled. It bounded forward once more, arcing up and over one of the helicopters as he sought her out. Kara watched it streak toward her and then, in the last instant, blurred to the side. The clone flashed by and tumbled down.

Into the bay.

It struck the water with a loud splash – over the din, she heard the shouts of approval from both the police chopper and the WGBS crew – and Kara tilted her head slightly, tensing certain muscles at the same time. Instantly, the solar visor built into her personal hard-suit deployed and she paused only a heartbeat before plunging downward, knifing through the water in pursuit of the potential threat. The princess was relying on her to protect Kal-El's city and Rao help her, she would not let her down.

To her great surprise, she found the clone at the bottom of the bay and its rage seemed to have faltered. If anything, it looked … confused. No, not confused. Relieved. As Kara drew closer, it turned to look at her and visibly tensed.

But it did not attack.

Instead, it tried to inhale, then appeared to panic when it swallowed water. Muscles flexed and the clone shot up, returning to the surface before she could do more than reach out for him. Cursing softly under her breath, Kara threw herself back up as well.

She was just in time to see the clone smash through the tail boom of the WGBS helicopter.

Kara blurred toward the suddenly out of control aerial vehicle, wincing at the tremendous weight as she tried to stop it from tumbling into the bay. For the first time, she regretted not spending more time testing her physical limits – Kal-El had insisted that was the only way to truly comprehend how strong they could be, but Kara had resisted for reasons she did not want to consider too deeply – and she struggled, grimacing as she felt metal buckle and humans scream. One of the crew flew from the helicopter, shrieking, but a blur of white and red streaked over the bay, stopping just in time to catch the whimpering photographer.

"Need a hand?" a strangely familiar voice called out and a moment later, the weight eased significantly as the other flying woman slid into place on the other side of the chopper, gripping it quickly with her free hand. "We need to get them to safety and contain that … thing immediately."

"It's a clone," Kara gasped. Rao, this thing was heavy! The other woman grunted.

"Get into the helicopter, sir," she said to someone Kara couldn't see at the moment. "Let's set her down on that barge," she added. When she spoke again, she'd raised her voice. "Please turn off the rotors, sir!" They floated down toward the barge and Kara lowered her side of the helicopter a shade more quickly than she should have. Her muscles shrieked in protest and, though she knew it was her imagination, she could almost imagine Kal-El chuckling. He would say that he told her so, the princess would scowl in dismay, and … the clone!

The other woman was already gone by the time Kara caught her breath, but it was easy to tell where she'd gone simply following the noise. Hurling herself upward, Kara streaked toward the origin point of the distinctive sounds of battle, freezing in shock the instant she saw the woman wrestling with the enraged clone.

It was … it was _her_.

There were unmistakable differences – this woman was taller, a little older, with larger breasts and an easy confidence that Kara still struggled with – but there were other things that instantly leaped out at her. Those dermal imperfections on her nose the humans called freckles were identical to the ones on Kara's face and the way the woman smirked when she caught her staring … that expression was way too familiar. It drove Donna nuts – Kara knew because the younger girl had told her. Several times. A quick scan of the woman in red and white revealed nothing that seemed out of place. She _wasn't _a clone. How in Rao's name was this possible?

"A little help, please," the woman hissed. Her hold on the clone had slipped somewhat and, striking with blurring speed, he twisted free and struck the woman with his free hand. The force of the impact shattered windows and sent the stranger tumbling, but Kara streaked forward. Rather than hit the clone, though, she came to a sudden stop just out of his reach and clapped both of her hands together – it was a trick she'd seen Kal-El do once before, and the resulting thunder caused the clone to scream out in pain. It threw both hands up to cover its ears. Comprehension came suddenly – its apparent lack of rage under the water where sounds were so muted, its reaction to this …

"Grab him!" she cried out as the white and red woman flashed back into sight. Reaching up, Kara deactivated her solar visor – it retracted into the simple collar – and floated toward the clone. It had recovered from her shockwave, but the … other her had already seized its arms in an unmistakably Amazon wrestling move. Hanging on the clone's back, she'd even slid one of her legs between his and then hooked her foot around his so he could not kick Kara. The solar visor slid into place easy enough and clicked shut. Instantly, it deployed.

And the clone abruptly ceased struggling.

He sagged limply in the other woman's hands and then looked around with confused, exhausted eyes. A moment later, he slumped forward, completely unconscious, and the woman in red and white frowned. She glanced away, narrowing her eyes slightly, and then shoved the clone into Kara's arms. With a grin, she flexed her leg muscles and shot up into the sky, shattering the sound barrier almost before she was out of sight. Kara was just about to pursue – she had questions, by Rao! – but the sound of approaching sirens and helicopters prevented her from doing so.

"Appreciate the assistance," Captain Sawyer said once she arrived. Dressed in body armor, the older woman frowned at the unconscious figure in Kara's arms before glancing up. "Another clone?" she asked tightly.

"It would appear so," Kara replied. "Are your facilities capable of containing him?"

"Not a chance," Sawyer said. "I'm not even sure if Stryker's could hold him if he wanted out." Kara grimaced.

"I will consult the League," she said. The clone stirred, but did nothing apart from looking around. As one, the police officers present took a step or two back at his movement, and Kara could hear their heartbeats begin thundering. They were a step away from doing something very foolish. "Once he is secured," she said to Sawyer, "I will report back to you."

"Sounds like a plan." The captain turned away. "Turpin! I want a two block perimeter now!"

The clone only started to struggle when Kara carried them into the clouds, but at a glance, she could tell he was barely awake, so she simply poured on more acceleration. Inhaling deeply, she held her breath as they breached the atmosphere and raced toward the Watchtower. The main airlock curled open as they touched down, but something caused Kara to glance back, over her shoulder.

The woman in red and white floated there.

She drifted closer once she recognized that Kara had seen her and landed lightly inside the airlock. It cycled quickly, allowing Kara to inhale deeply. Her eyes never left the taller woman who smirked.

"I guess we need to talk," the stranger said in perfect High Kryptonian. "Let's get Connor here situated and then-"

"Connor?" Kara glanced at the clone and then back at the other woman.

"Right. You just met him." The woman exhaled. "Let's get him secured and then we can talk." She offered a wan smile. "And we've got a lot to discuss, don't we?" Kara glowered.

"Who are you?" she demanded. The woman in red and white smiled.

"That," she said simply, "is a _very _long story."

/-\

Barbara Gordon hated Metropolis.

She couldn't quite put her finger on why – viewed dispassionately, Metropolis was undeniably a beautiful city, with ultra-modern skyscrapers and clean streets. They'd done an amazing job at rebuilding the wake of the Kryptonian attack and it was quite clear that the citizens of this city took great pride in their home. Everyone she met was polite and helpful – though whether that was because she was attractive, female or stuck in this stupid wheelchair remained up in the air – and all of her professors were pleasant enough, but still, she hated this place.

Today had been a perfect example. Despite only just turning nineteen, she was already beginning her final semester for her undergraduate degree – a product of her skipping two grades before college and taking a heavier than normal course load over the last two years – and all of her professors were eagerly recommending Masters' programs they thought she should consider, but the only thing Barbara could think of was how badly she wanted to go home. There wasn't a chance of her resuscitating her career as Batgirl, not with her legs utterly useless and the chances of her ever walking again dwindling with each day that passed – there was already some significant muscle loss despite her various attempts to prevent complete atrophy – but she was convinced she could still help Bruce in other ways, even if it was just as a high tech equivalent of a dispatch operator. He'd been less than enthusiastic the one time she floated the idea by him, but since then, he'd started relying on her for computer work more and more. In fact, her current rig was a gift from him and she was pretty sure she had more processing power at her fingertips than the entire U.S. military combined.

And man, _World of Warcraft _looked awesome on this machine.

At the moment, though, as she leaned back in her chair and stared at the monitors for the state of the art computer, Barbara had to admit the thing she missed the most was Gotham pizza. None of the places she'd tried here in Metropolis came close to Rizzoli's, even the three or four places that claimed to be 'Gotham-style.'

"My kingdom for a _good_ pizza," Barbara murmured as she un-muted her television.

"-coming to you live from downtown Metropolis where the Maid of Steel just shut down another crazed clone of her cousin," the reporter was breathlessly announcing. Barbara grimaced – she'd monitored the entire fight from a hijacked WayneTech satellite and had observed the arrival of the other Kryptonian; the mystery woman had successfully managed to avoid being captured on any of the news cameras, but she'd clearly not anticipated the presence of an orbital camera pointed directly at the city – and quickly killed the power to the television. That was another reason she hated this city – WGBS splashed Catherine Grant all over Metropolis and Barbara couldn't stand her.

"Online," a raspy but familiar voice growled across her dedicated audio chat line. Barbara smirked and wheeled around to her desk.

"Hey, B," she said into her headset as she tapped a quick command. "Uploading some data to your system – looks like the mystery girl just showed up to help Kara."

"I know," Bruce rumbled. "They're on the Watchtower now." Barbara's eyes widened at that. "I have some data I need decrypted." Her computer pinged. "This is time sensitive." His connection ended abruptly, once more reminding her of what she _didn't _miss about working with him. Glowering at her screen, she navigated to the FTP server he'd uploaded the data to and went to work.

An hour into it, Barbara had identified it as being linked to the League of Shadows – there were more than a few familiar markers in the data encryption that identified the source – and she sighed heavily. Any time Ra's al Ghul re-entered Bruce's life, things got wildly out of control, especially if he brought that monster, Talia, with him.

"You online?" Richard's voice crackled over the voice chat moments after she'd successfully broken through the first layers. Barbara grinned.

"Hey there, Boy Wonder," she replied. "How are things out in Seattle?"

"Cold and frustrating." Richard chuckled. "I think I would kill someone for a real pizza." Barbara laughed out loud.

"I was thinking the same thing earlier," she admitted. Leaning back in her chair, she glanced at the wall clock – two-thirty in the morning; that would put it at half past eleven in Washington – and shook her head. "What's up?"

"Checking in," Richard replied. "You wanted me to call when we knew what was up…"

"With Wally!" Barbara minimized her work area. "How is he?"

"Recovering." Richard was silent for a moment and Barbara exhaled in relief. Wally West – Kid Flash – was the former Robin's best friend and, for the last week, had been in a coma, ever since he took an energy blast meant for one of his team members. According to Richard, the person Wally had leaped to defend – Artemis – was alternately apoplectic with rage over his action and shivering with terror that he would die. "He opened his eyes for a minute or two today and the doctors are pretty sure he'll be running around like a lunatic pretty soon." A pang of envy shot through her – Barbara would love to be able to run again – but it was washed away by an overwhelming sense of relief. She liked Wally too.

"Did you guys nail Beldon?" she asked. Once again, Richard chuckled.

"Artemis did," he said. "She tracked him down and beat the living crap out of him." He snickered. "I think he'll get out of traction sometime next year – honestly, if Kaldur hadn't pulled her off him, I think she might have done some permanent damage."

"But she doesn't like Wally," Barbara said with a grin.

"Not at all." They laughed; the continuing will-they-won't-they dance between the two Titans remained a constant source of amusement for Richard and the rest of his team, even if they did not quite understand the nature of human courtships as was the case with the statuesque Starfire. Barbara grimaced.

"How's Kory?" she asked after a moment. It took every bit of her self control to keep the emotion out of her voice – she wasn't sure how the acrobatic jerk who used to tease her at every chance he could became so damned essential to her mental health, but by the time she'd realized it, the little punk had starting dating a super-powered alien princess.

"Doing okay," came the quick response. "Still having trouble fitting in, but that's not a big surprise, right?" He laughed suddenly. "To be honest," Richard said, "I'm not sure whether it's her or Donna who is struggling the most."

"That's … nice." Barbara almost winced at the hesitation in her voice – as someone who'd lived with Bruce for four years, there was almost no way Richard would miss it, even on this crappy connection.

"Enough about me," he said quickly, the humor in his voice dwindling. "How are you?" Barbara was silent for several long seconds as she struggled with how to answer it – the truth? A lie? Some combination of the two? "That bad, huh?" Richard asked before she could figure out her angle. "Is it the chair?" He asked it so simply, accepted her disability without any beating around the bush or trying to pretend it wasn't there, and it just made Barbara love him even more. Bruce couldn't even look at her without getting angry at himself all over again – as if it was his fault; Joker had come after her dad, not Batgirl – and all of her other friends automatically apologized the instant they made a joke about 'running out to the store' or 'standing up to the man.' Not Richard, though.

"Not today," she admitted. Inhaling deeply, she shook her head. Truth it was. She'd never been able to lie to him. "I hate Metropolis," she said. "After I graduate, I'm heading back to Gotham."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" There was a frown in his voice – she could hear it – and Barbara knew he was thinking about her nightmares. The last time she'd visited Gotham, sense memories – the taste of gunpowder, the sound of Joker's laugh, his foul breath, the sound of him smacking his lips in that absurd way – had nearly destroyed her. Every day, she thanked God he hadn't raped her physically, but seeing the haunted look in Dad's eyes or hearing the barely contained rage in Bruce's … those were bad enough.

"I think so, yeah," Barbara murmured. "This city … I can't stand it, Dick," she said, intentionally using Wally's friendly nickname as an attempt to change the subject. He hated that name.

"You know he'll treat you like dirt again," Richard said, anger and frustration simmering in his voice. "He does it to everybody." He continued before she could respond. "Have you met my replacement?" he asked sourly. Barbara sighed.

"No." It wasn't entirely a lie – she'd spoken to this new Robin over the headset twice, but they'd been short conversations that consisted solely of her relaying some information. She glanced at the minimized work window. "He's looking into something involving the League of Shadows," she said carefully. The noise of disgust she heard made her smile.

"Ugh," Richard growled. "That means Talia." When he next spoke, his voice was a high-pitched falsetto. "I did it for you, Beloved," he simpered. "That woman … ugh."

"This holding back of your real feelings about her concerns me," Barbara said with smirk even though she pretty much agreed with him. As far as she was concerned, Bruce had unbelievably bad taste in women, in between the crazy cat lady and the even crazier terrorist lady. And that didn't even take into account the other freaks he tended to attract.

"That woman is insane, Babs," Richard added. "She's stabbed him in the back – _literally _– at least twice that I know of." His next comment, spoken under his breath, was clearly not intended for her. "Idiot needs to stop thinking with his little head." He was silent for long moments. "Have you considered where you're going to live?" he asked. "Your dad's place isn't exactly big and the bedrooms are all on the second floor."

"The Clocktower, I think." Barbara blew out an annoyed breath. "Bruce made sure I have tons of money," she said, "so I was thinking about buying a loft in those apartments and then renovating them."

"Or you could just ask the owner," the former acrobat said. "Mister Dark and Broody owns that building." Barbara blinked – she hadn't known that. Bruce must have purchased them under a shell company because his name definitely wasn't in the lease. "He doesn't use it much," Richard continued, "but I know he used to have a satellite cave on the top floor." The sound of a muted conversation filtered across the line. "I've got to go," Richard said. "Wally's waking up and I want to embarrass Artemis in front of him."

"Okay." Barbara smiled. "Try to get some video of it for future blackmail."

"Oh, awesome idea! Vic can record it for me!" Richard paused. "I'll call you tomorrow," he promised. "You can sell me on the Gotham thing."

"Sell _you_?" Barbara smirked. "I'm the one thinking of moving, Dicky boy."

"Yeah, but it means when I visit you, I have to be in _his _city." The last two words were spoken in a raspy, deepened voice that was, in her opinion, an amazingly accurate imitation of Bruce when he was in Bat-mode. "Catch you later, Babs!" His line disconnected, but not before she heard him call out to Vic. She smiled.

And then, maximized her work window so she could finish decrypting this mess. After all, she still had classes in the morning.

/-\

The man screamed.

He burned, and melted, and was remade, only for the entire process to start over. His veins were filled with acid, he inhaled flame, and unbelievable agony was his constant companion. He could not rest, could not see, could not move. The only thing that existed was pain.

Pain and Darkseid.

He fought without knowing why. The pain wanted him to submit, to yield, to surrender, but he could not, _would _not do that. Surrender meant oblivion. Surrender meant the loss of identity. He clung to fragments of memory – a sigil or symbol that meant hope, a dark-haired woman of unspeakable beauty, a glittering orb of blue and green, a girl with hair of gold – and struggled. He would not falter. He would burn and be seared to ash and smashed to atoms, but he would _not _yield.

The pain came anew.

An eternity later – it could have been seconds, it could have been decades – he heard voices and the agony abated ever so slightly. He recalled gasping heavily as he desperately sought to rebuild his mental walls. His tortured brain labored to translate the words in comprehension.

"He continues to resist, Master," one of the voices declared. It was a black sound, filled with hate and malice and petty cruelty. There was fear and despair in that voice too, and the man held onto that realization.

"I grow weary of excuses, Desaad." This voice made the man shiver and tremble. There was no weakness in this voice, no fear or any emotion but hate and rage, both tightly controlled. "You broke Kalibak in a tenth of the time," the voice rumbled like ice cracking.

"Kalibak was weak, Master," the first voice whimpered. "This Kryptonian, he is strong."

"My patience is not limitless, Desaad." A chill colder than the deepest winter fell upon the man as the monster continued. "My wrath, however, _is _without limit. Fail me and you shall know this intimately." The cold withdrew, leaving behind only the man and the first voice.

"Let us resume, my slave," it whispered.

And the pain began again.

* * *

**A/N #2: **Honestly, I don't understand people. Maybe it dates me, but my dad taught me that if I had nothing nice (or at least constructive) to say, I should keep my damned mouth shut.

Diana's undersuit is obviously intended to be the same kind of starfield jumpsuit that Donna Troy wore in Classic Titans.

Regarding the Titans, I am merging the original Titans (Robin, Donna, Starfire, Kid Flash, etc.) with the Young Justice team in the cartoon (which was really cool.) Team Roster is Aqualad (Kaldur, tm leader), Nightwing, Starfire, Raven, Cyborg, Kid Flash and Artemis. And since Metropolis replaced NY, they had to be relocated, so I dropped them into Seattle.


	10. Year Ten: Unification

**Year Ten: Unification**

**Author's Note: **See bottom.

* * *

**Kahndaq Civil War Enters Seventh Year**

_Published August 28, 2022 / Ronald Troupe_

SHIRUTA, KAHNDAQ – Large protests marking the seventh-year anniversary of the Kahndaq uprising were held across the country Saturday as the opposition vowed to continue its fight to topple President Asim Muhunnad.

As the fighting entered a seventh year, there were scant signs of a political solution that some world leaders have been pushing. More than 70,000 people have been killed, many of them women and children, according to the United Nations.

Concern over the possibility of biological and chemical weapons being used have kept the United Nations from requesting Justice League intervention. The League's charter officially forbids it from intervening in civil conflicts such as the one going on in Kahndaq, despite building international pressure for them to do so.

**Click for more from Daily Planet Online**

/-\

The sound of battle drew him closer.

Downtown Metropolis was a mess, with overturned cars, smoking wrecks that had once been police vehicles, and a thick haze of smoke from out of control fires. There were still police officers present and, as Billy streaked over the street, more than a few pointed in the direction they needed him to take. Laboring alongside the cops were EMTs and firemen. At another time, he would have paused and given them a hand, but there was no time. There was never any time.

He curled around a still burning military helicopter – at a glance, it appeared the crew had not died with it – and paused ever so briefly to take in the scene. Robots, cyborgs, and hideous-looking monsters that were likely failed Kryptonian clones were everywhere, standing guard around a shattered building or engaging the heroes who had answered the call. Billy saw members of the League, the entire group of Titans out of Seattle, even a couple who were unaffiliated with any team, and all of them showed signs of fierce combat: Nightwing, the current leader of the Titans, had his left arm in a jury-rigged cast but was somehow still in the fight; Black Canary was bleeding profusely from a scalp wound but was ignoring it as she treated a barely conscious Zatanna; there was even a strange-looking green guy wearing a trench coat with red suspenders and armed with a pair of pistols who seemed to be capable of phasing through the attacks directed against him. Dozens of non-powered soldiers, all wearing advanced body armor, were scattered around the heroes, engaging the robots and clones from positions of cover even as the current Lantern – the jerk, Gardner, who really needed to be punched in the face – stood in the open, his legs set as he generated a semi-translucent energy barrier protecting them from incoming fire. Energy beams, high-bore cannons, even chunks of masonry torn free and thrown smashed into the Lantern's wall, but Gardner held fast.

"We've got an entire squadron of Blackhawks en route," one of the military men was telling Wonder Woman. He wore general rank – just one star – and the style of his uniform identified him as Air Force. "I'm not sure how good they'll be, though," the general continued. "As long as he has that force field protecting him, we might as well be using sticks."

"Defeating the barrier is our first objective," Princess Diana said. For a moment, the Wisdom of Solomon abandoned him and Billy stared. Covered in dirt and sweat, her face creased in a fierce frown, the princess was … glorious. There was a presence about her, an aura of effortless command that made Billy almost want to go to one knee in front of her and swear eternal obedience. He blinked suddenly at the strange sense of familiarity radiating from her before suddenly understanding.

Her entire being was suffused with magic. It was a subtle effect, one that enhanced her natural beauty and made her even more appealing. Though he could not be sure, Billy couldn't help but to wonder if different people saw different things when they looked at her, as if the elements that a person found most desirable in a mate were enhanced. It did not seem to be an artifice of any sort, but rather something innate, something that called to him on an elemental level. Now that he thought about it, though, that made sense; her gods were the Olympians and weren't his powers linked to them as well? No wonder she seemed so familiar to him even though he'd barely exchanged a dozen words with her over the years.

He shook the moment off as he made a quick half-floating, half jump to where she stood. She continued addressing the general, but her eyes drifted briefly toward Billy and she gave him a nod.

"Advise your troops, Steve," she said. "We will move in five minutes." The general – his nametag read TREVOR and Billy vaguely remembered him now; he was the pilot who'd been linked to the princess when she first came to America, right? – offered her a quick salute and darted off. "You are just in time, Captain," Wonder Woman said as her former beau left. "We have need of your strength."

"I'm here to help, ma'am," Billy said with a grin. Automatically, his eyes turned to the broken building that dominated the combat zone. Once, it had been the city's tallest skyscraper. All but the lower ten or fifteen floors were gone now, having exploded outward hours ago when the onslaught began. Hundreds were dead, thousands injured, and millions of dollars of damage was already done. Through great holes in the wall, a flickering field of energy could be seen and within that sphere was a man, dressed in what looked to be a green battlesuit, though the distortions of the force field made it hard to confirm that. Whatever he man was doing, it couldn't be good.

Nothing Lex Luthor did these days was good.

"Still not able to breach that field," a man declared, seeming to almost pop out of nowhere. Dressed entirely in red, he somehow managed to look completely bored. "Pretty sure Luthor has it set up with some oscillating molecular frequencies – I can get about halfway through, then it adapts and spits me out." He glanced at Billy and bit his lip. "I've got an idea, though," he said. "I think I can hyper-accelerate a flier's velocity for short bursts."

"I'm game to give it a try," Billy said brightly. The princess nodded but kept staring at the robots with such intensity that Billy and the Flash followed the line of her gaze in an attempt to figure out what was bothering her. It came to him a moment later – those looked like the ones that guy who called himself the Toymaker used. How could Luthor get his hands on that kind of tech? And the clones? There were just too many of them for this to be a spur of the moment thing. "This is a trap," he murmured with a frown. The princess glanced at him – he saw agreement in her eyes, along with the same confusion he felt. Who was it for? What was the endgame?

A sonic boom announced the arrival of two other figures, both feminine though one was much larger than the other, and both garbed in red and white. Billy grinned again – he'd wondered when Kara and Karen would show up. These days, where you found one, you found the other. It made hanging with Kara hard to do at times – Karen teased him mercilessly and seemed to derive an unhealthy amount of glee from his difficulty in meeting her eyes at times; it wasn't really his fault … her breasts were always _right there_ and that ridiculous costume she wore only enhanced them. Sure, he might have the Wisdom of Solomon at his disposal, but that guy had a thousand wives or something, and Billy just turned seventeen last month. Super-powers meant super-hormones. At least Kara usually dressed like a normal person usually and that made it easier to concentrate on ignoring the fact she was pretty hot herself, providing he managed to forget that Karen _was _Kara, just a couple years older. And one of these days, Billy promised himself for the hundredth time today, he fully intended to work up the courage to ask her out on a real date, not a stupid team-up against Black Adam or Dominus or some other super-powered clown.

Glancing away from the incoming Kryptonians, the hairs on the back of neck stood up the moment he realized each and every one of the defending robots oriented their heads at the two. Comprehension came instantly.

Luthor was waiting for them!

A sudden explosion of emerald energy erupted from the LexCorp building – it streaked outward at impossible speeds, tearing up concrete and smashing aside anything in its way. Cyborgs and robots alike were sent tumbling into the shattered city streets. The instant it flashed by the clones, they began shrieking …

And disintegrating.

Kara must have recognized the threat before her timelost sister as she threw herself at Karen in what was clearly a desperate attempt to shield her, but the energy wave struck them both at the same and hurled them back into the side of another building. Billy tensed at the sound of their screams, calling upon the Speed of Mercury. Instantly, the world around him slowed to a crawl and time seemed to stand still. He could only do this in short spurts – in was beyond exhausting and burned so much energy he always ended up so hungry afterward that he could eat out an entire store – but man, it was useful at times!

"Whoa," Flash said, the normal sounding remark causing Billy to jerk in surprise. Alone in the world, Flash moved at regular speed and his eyes were wide with surprise underneath his mask at Billy's unexpected capability. He shook the moment off quickly. "Get Superboy clear!" he shouted before blurring in the building that Kara and Karen had just struck. Grimacing, Billy obeyed even though he desperately wanted to check on the two Kara Zor-Els.

He reached Connor – Kon-El as Kara had christened him – a subjective second later and seized the half-Kryptonian, half-Something Else in a body tackle. With barely fifty percent Kryptonian genes, Connor was reacting much faster than a normal human, but still, he was too slow, and Billy carried him high into the sky and as far away from Metropolis as he could manage. Tossing the only decent clone to come out Luthor's lab toward an empty field, he then arced back toward the city, climbing higher and higher so he could manage more acceleration upon descent. He fell like a burning star, arrowing down toward the force barrier. And, at the last moment before impact, he cried out.

"Shazam!"

Lightning boomed down and Billy rolled in mid-flight to avoid it so the mystical bolt would splash across Luthor's force field with incalculable power. He wasn't entirely sure what had encouraged him to do that – the Wisdom of Solomon, perhaps; even at the best of times, he barely understood the powers bequeathed to him by that crazy old wizard – but the effect was instantaneous. The whole of the energy barrier blazed up as it tried to absorb the lightning, but explosions all around the building signified its failure. Billy hit the ground floor with both feet and then blurred toward Luthor.

But something smashed him to his face.

He struggled to stand – the Strength of Heracles and the Stamina of Atlas swelled within his body – but the force holding him down was beyond anything he'd ever felt before. It hurt to breathe. The crack of crumbling masonry warned him that this was not natural. He thought he could hear a soft hum somewhere.

"You're experiencing fifty gravities," Luthor said from where he stood. His armor _was _green, but there was something wrong with it. The chest seemed to be missing and there, where his torso should have been, was a swirling mass of spinning energy. "I'd hoped you would be the Amazon," Luthor continued. Billy could sense the protective energy barrier spring back up. "But I suppose you shall do."

"Stop," Billy hissed, and Luthor replied with a boot to his jaw.

"Be silent before your betters, boy," the madman snarled. "Are you even capable of comprehending what I have accomplished here? I have harnessed four different alien technologies and I am using them to kill you would-be overlords with your unnatural abilities." The implacable pressure crushed down even harder. "One hundred gravities!" Luthor shouted. "They will build monuments to my name!" he exclaimed. "Statues will be erected!" He turned his maddened eyes to Billy. "Churches even," he hissed. "I will be worshipped as a god for what I do today!"

"Not today," Billy hissed. "Not any day."

And ignoring the impossible pressure crushing down upon him, ignoring the crippling agony, ignoring the ominous creak of masonry and steel crumbling underneath the pressure, he stood up.

"Impossible," Luthor hissed, backing away from him. He manipulated something on his arm and Billy felt an even greater weight slam into him, driving him to one knee. He groaned but forced himself to his feet once more. Heracles was said to have held the weight of the world upon his shoulders and, according to the wizard, Billy had his strength. He forced a grin on his face and took a single, ponderous step forward. His foot sank into the ground, powdering concrete and marble. "This is not possible!" Luthor roared.

"Sure it is," Billy said through clenched teeth. Once more summoning the Speed of Mercury, he covered the distance to Luthor in an eyeblink and seized the madman by the arms. Armor crumpled under his fingers, and the impossible weight fell away as sparks and tiny explosions wreathed his fingers. "Shut it down, Luthor," he ordered. Even as he spoke, he could see the strange energy vortex in Luthor's chest begin spinning faster and faster. An ominous noise began building in pitch in direct correlation to the speed of the vortex. Luthor began to laugh then, a madman's cackle that showed how far gone he was, and rage filled Billy's chest. This monster … he was no better than scum like Sivana!

Spinning Luthor around, he seized him in a full Nelson hold and then threw them both up into the air. At the last instant, immediately before they struck the barrier, Billy slowed their rapid ascent despite the overwhelming urge to see what would happen if they struck it at full speed. He was fairly certain he could take the impact, but Luthor? Probably not. Fury beat at his soul … but that wasn't really a surprise, was it? He had the Strength of Heracles and the Courage of Achilles, but neither of them was especially renowned for their calm demeanors. It only made sense that he possessed at least some of their anger as well. The Wisdom of Solomon urged him to show mercy, to consider his actions, but the fears of William Batson washed it away. He could still hear her screams.

"You shouldn't have hurt Kara," he growled. And then, he drew in air and shouted. "Shazam!"

And thunder answered him.

/-\

Sweat trickled down his face, but Bruce ignored it as he studied the lithe woman standing in front of him. This was _exactly _what he'd wanted to avoid when he followed Jason to Kahndaq.

She was dressed in a black form-fitting bodysuit and, from the way she glided over the rocky terrain, Bruce knew he was looking squarely at trouble. There was no hesitation in her step, no concern about the imperfect footing, and her balance was absolutely perfect. Her features marked her as foreign – there weren't many Chinese women here in this part of the world – but the distinctive scalloped gauntlets – identical to the ones he'd incorporated into his suit – she wore confirmed his worst fears.

"So," Bruce said as he knelt to check Jason's pulse and confirm the boy was only unconscious. He kept his eyes on the woman before him. "The League of Shadows is in Kahndaq."

"Of course we are," the woman – Shiva Woosan, according to Jason's research though now that he was looking at her, Bruce suspect she was also the League of Shadows agent known as Jade Canary. "We are everywhere." Her smirk deepened as he rose and slid a half step away from Jason. "And I see the rumors about you are correct," she stated. "You _have _had League instruction." She grinned then, a dark and deadly expression. "This has the potential to be an excellent day after all."

Without another word, she sprang forward, her hands blurring as she went for a disabling strike. Bruce countered, backing away from her equally fast follow-up. Damn, she was fast. He caught her next strike on his gauntlet and whirled, flowing into what would have been a crippling knee strike, but she danced away, twisting and rolling away to assume a perfect ready stance. Her eyes lit up as they circled.

"You are not entirely incompetent," she remarked with a wicked smile. Her form changed – from Leopard to Dragon – and Bruce countered with Tiger. He half-stepped forward, then threw himself back at her sudden and unexpected snap-kick. His head spun – he hadn't even seen that kick coming! – and he blinked the dizziness away just in time to counter another strike. Shiva's follow-up kick caught him in the side: his armor held, but even so, the force of the blow staggered him just enough for her to attack again, this time with a blindingly fast elbow strike to his jaw.

They danced back and forth for long moments, neither speaking nor making much noise, and Bruce's estimation of the woman's skills rapidly climbed. He had strength and size, but she was unbelievably fast and dodged nearly all of his counter-strikes. His armor was his biggest edge – it held firm against her most lethal strikes and he could see her frustration mounting when even the weak points refused to buckle.

Once again, they circled.

"Your form is exceptional," Shiva said. "You trained with the Sensei, did you not?"

"I did." Bruce side-stepped, watching her eyes. He saw something then that she did not and leaped forward, abandoning defense in favor of an all out assault that clearly caught her by surprise. She backpedaled furiously, batting aside his kicks and strikes, and was thus completely unprepared for Jason's arrival. He struck low, his punch aimed at her left kidney, and it staggered her just enough for Bruce to seize the upper hand. He almost felt bad for the damage he handed out – though he couldn't be certain, he was fairly certain he'd broken several of her ribs and she wasn't able to fully evade the roundhouse kick he delivered to her jaw. Robin struck again, wisely staying low, and his rabbit punch fouled her footing enough to allow Bruce to deliver a punishing blow to her face.

Shiva crumpled.

Rather than trust she was beaten, Bruce seized her left arm and locked it in a disabling hold while wrapping his legs around her neck. She struggled – a distant part of him congratulated him on not falling for her trick – but by then, it was already too late. Her body slackened as she slipped into unconsciousness.

"Cuff her," he ordered Jason tersely. The boy hesitated – this might be his mother, after all – but pulled zip ties from his utility belt and obeyed. "Legs too," Bruce added as he let her go. "Double … no, triple strength." He wobbled as he stood. "Damn, she's good," he muttered before glancing back in the direction of the rebel camp. He briefly contemplated blowing the ammo dump, but just as quickly discarded the thought – they could not afford to be noticed and the explosion that would be necessary to take out the weapons would be seen for miles.

With Jason's assistance, he carried the unconscious Shiva to their jeep where he allowed the younger man to drive while he focused on his breathing. Not for the first time, Bruce was glad of the cowl – it allowed him to conceal how wobbly he was. He nodded toward an outcropping.

"Pull over here," he instructed.

Shiva snapped awake the instant he held the tiny smelling salt packet underneath her nose, but to her credit, she did not both trying to free herself. Instead, she glanced around in what was likely an attempt to identify their location or perhaps find something to turn to her advantage. When she returned her gaze to Bruce's, he could see the rage in her eyes.

"You are far from Gotham, Detective," she hissed through swelled lips.

"I have questions for you," Bruce replied. Jason wisely held back, out of sight of Shiva. Had the woman been able to see him, Bruce doubted she would have been able to miss his conflicted eagerness.

"And if I choose _not _to answer them?" Shiva asked. "I know your reputation, _Detective_," she added with a sneer. Bruce said nothing as he pulled a small device off his utility belt. From it, he extracted a patch, almost identical in appearance to the smoking cessation patches so prevalent in the United States. "Drugs?" Shiva asked with a laugh. "You know as well as I that the League trains you to resist this sort of thing."

"I could lie to you," Bruce hissed as he slapped the patch onto her exposed neck, "and tell you that this compound is sodium pentothal, but both of us know there is no such thing as truth serum." He leaned closer and lowered his voice. "On Earth, that is." Instantly, he saw her understanding. Everyone knew that the Batman was a member of the Justice League and there were several members of that august organization who were extraterrestrial. This particular compound was actually a derivative of the more traditional sodium pentothal, enhanced by chemicals Clark had developed during his research into Kryptonian medical databases. It was an amazing discovery.

And Bruce hoped to God his friend, wherever he was, never learned how this gift to mankind had been perverted.

The serum took effect quickly – Shiva fought it, but he could see how her eyes swam out of focus. Her muscles slackened. Bruce leaned forward, though he made sure that he was just out of reach should she be responsive enough to try anything.

"What is your name?" he asked softly.

"Sandra," she murmured. "Sandra Wu-San." Bruce tightened his lips and made a mental note. He paused briefly before continuing.

"Have you ever had children?"

"Yes," Shiva replied. Jason froze in place, his breath faltering slightly. "A daughter," she added with a sleepy, dream-like smile. "The League took my little Cassandra from me," she said, but Bruce was watching Jason. The boy was clearly torn between relief and despair – they'd come so far and once again found only disappointment. Catching Bruce's look, Robin nodded and turned away.

Bruce watched him walk away.

"Why are you in Kahndaq, Sandra?" he asked once Jason was back at the jeep. "What does the League want here?" Ra's having a hand in this war made no sense – Kahndaq had been a mess for decades even before this civil war broke out and there was no way they could considered economic powerhouses. Was this part of a new gambit, one that Bruce had not predicted?

"Recruiting," Shiva replied. The short-lived drug was beginning to wear off and Bruce could see coherence returning to her eyes. She was fighting the effects now and he respected her capabilities enough to doubt anything else she said. He pulled the patch free.

"You should be fully recovered in a few minutes," Bruce told her simply. "With your abilities, I expect you'll be free in no time."

"Our paths will cross again, Detective," Shiva snarled. Bruce didn't bother responding as he walked the short distance to the jeep. Jason was already waiting, once more in the driver's seat.

"Let's get out of here," he muttered as Bruce slid into the vehicle.

"Would she have been the type of mother you'd want to have?" he asked once they were on the road again. Bruce pulled off his armored cowl and winced at the hot air that blasted him in the face. Damn, she'd been good. He couldn't remember the last time he'd faced someone that fast, that skilled, that dangerous.

"Of course not," Jason muttered. "She's insane." He glanced toward Bruce. "League of Shadows," he said slowly. "She reminds me of Talia."

"Hardly." Bruce leaned back in his seat. "You can actually trust some of what Shiva says." He tried not to sound too bitter, but it was hard. His head ached, both from the fierce fight and what felt like inadequate water. It was too damned hot here and he didn't want to even think about Ra's al Ghul's daughter or the overly complicated relationship he had with her, not right now.

God, he missed Selina.

"This leaves just Sheila Haywood," he said. Instantly, Jason brightened. In that moment, he looked more like Richard than he ever had, and it sent a pang through Bruce. Why hadn't he introduced them? Yes, he'd overreacted when Richard was shot, but since then, he'd made no effort to bury the hatchet or take back any of the words fear had caused him to say. Richard was thriving in Seattle with that group of his, but Bruce had intentionally avoided doing more than keeping track of his adopted son's activities.

"Yeah," Jason said with a grin. "Ethiopia, here we come!"

/-\

Her back straight, Diana of Themyscira stared silently at the wall and prayed.

To her great dismay, she realized she had not done so for many weeks. Events had flowed so quickly into one another that she had staggered from one crisis to another, sleeping when she could, eating when she had to, but always struggling on. Before, when she was still on Themyscira, rarely did a day pass without her paying homage to the gods upon Olympus. Perhaps her mother was not entirely inaccurate. Perhaps she _had _lost something of herself to Patriarch's World.

She was not sure exactly how long she knelt there, staring at the icons in what she already knew to be a vain attempt for guidance. The two Kryptonians were not Amazons, nor were they even of this world, so the Olympians had no reason to respond to her request for intervention. Once, an eternity ago, before Ares descended upon Themyscira in his madness, she could have petitioned the queen for use of the Purple Ray, but like so much, it was lost to them, shattered by Phobos himself. Now, all they had at their disposal was Kryptonian science and brilliant men and women like Doctors Holt and Spence.

Her prayers complete, Diana knelt quietly, her thoughts drifting like so much flotsam in the sea. Inevitably, they turned to Kal – where _was_ he? The Lanterns had uncovered nothing during the course of their investigation, though she knew Hal suspected the Guardians were keeping key truths from him.

"The lack of evidence is _too _perfect," he'd complained to her the last time he was on Earth so many months ago. "I've been doing this for a while now and I have _never_ seen something wiped this clean." His expression had darkened. "Those little pricks know something but they're not telling the rest of us what it is."

He'd vanished after that, departing Sector 2814 to conduct his own, unofficial investigation. Shortly thereafter, Shayera Hol had returned to the stars herself to do the same; her husband, Katar, had not been pleased at being separated from his mate for such an extended amount of time – Diana did not know the particulars, but evidently, once wed, Thanagarian couples were genetically incapable of extended separation – but seeing as how Kal had saved both of their lives numerous times, he'd not complained too loudly. According to Katar, Shayera had contacts Hal did not and she meant to burn every bridge, call in every favor, shake down every informant until she found something.

Were her own duties not so overwhelming, Diana would have accompanied Shayera, but the League needed her, Themyscira required her, and the United Nations expected her to play nursemaid. Today aside, Metropolis had calmed down considerably, though that might be due to her more aggressive policing policy. There were quite a few of would-be conquerors or villains who required extensive recovery times thanks to her temper. It was exactly as Bruce had promised so many months ago …

Bruce. Diana frowned at thoughts about him. He'd taken Kal's disappearance almost as hard as she, once more withdrawing into his angry shell and reducing his presence in the League to a bare minimum. She knew he'd coordinated a few times with Hal regarding the Lantern's investigation, but as was his wont, he did not bother informing anyone else about it. She shook her head.

A subtle chime echoed through the sealed off room and Diana rose to her feet, pausing briefly acknowledge the other icons scattered around the makeshift chapel. There were several different crosses, a crescent not intended to represent anything in Muslim theology but rather to point the way to Mecca, a Magen David, a small statue of Buddha, and several other symbols she was not entirely familiar with. While she was not an adherent to any of these other religions, she saw no reason to be offensive toward them – the world was more wondrous and terrible than she could have ever imagined; who was she to determine what was Absolute Truth?

She wasn't entirely sure who had decided to convert this room to a chapel – for the most part, the members of the League were surprisingly non-religious – but in her position as chairman of the always growing team, she'd insisted on equal representation. Anyone was free to visit the chamber, but disrespect for any of the other denominations would be grounds for immediate expulsion. Thus far, there had been no issues apart from a number of heated debates between various League members. As an avowed (and quite vocal) atheist, Green Arrow somehow managed to be at the center of nearly every one of the conflicts and managed to earn the universal dislike of Christian, Jewish and Muslim alike, creating a form of unity between the three religions that thousands of years had failed to accomplish.

He was quite proud of this feat.

Doctor Holt was waiting outside the chapel and, from his expression, Diana knew the news was not good. She steeled herself and gave him a nod.

"I'm afraid I don't have good news," he said. "We attempted an application of solar radiation per the Watchtower's A.I., but it has only accelerated the deterioration." He offered Diana a data-slate, but she refused it – her knowledge of medicine was limited to the more traditional applications taught by Epione who had already looked over the two Kryptonians and simply shook her head. "To be frank, I've never seen anything like this before." Holt frowned. "Hell, I didn't even think this was possible," he added. "Based on the debris we recovered at the scene, I'm guessing Luthor reverse-engineered a Kryptonian birthing matrix obtained during Zod's invasion and then used it to develop this … effect."

"Is there nothing you can do?" Diana asked softly. Hera help her, she hated feeling this helpless.

"What I need is time," Holt replied. "If we can find some way to slow down the process so I can study it and the lab equipment from the scene, I might be able to counter this." Diana nodded.

"Who do you need?"

"The Flashes," came the quick reply. "Theoretically, they should be able to focus their special abilities and form a sort of stasis field by…"

"I will have them join you in the medical facility at once," Diana interrupted to prevent a lengthy, complicated and ultimately incomprehensible explanation. What was it about geniuses that required so many of them to use ten words to describe something within their field of expertise when three would do? Diana was, by no means, an unintelligent woman – she was actually quite brilliant, thanks to the blessings of her gods – but there were times, when she spoke to a true expert that she felt like a babbling fool and few things were more uncomfortable. At her remarks, Holt nodded and turned away, sparing only a single, disinterested glance at the chapel entrance.

Tracking down the two Flashes – Barry and his nephew, Wallace – was easy enough: she found them in the small dining facility, replenishing the energy of their bodies through the consumption of vast quantities of sugar. A young man she did not know sat with them, though there was a strangely familiar presence about him. It took Diana less than a heartbeat to recognize it as the same feeling she'd had each time she was speaking with Captain Marvel. For the first time, she felt less concerned about the amount of time Kara had been spending with him – if this was his natural form, he was not a greatly older man taking advantage of a young, inexperienced girl.

"I'm willing to give it a try," Barry said once she explained the rudiments of Doctor Holt's idea. He glanced at his nephew who nodded and both simply vanished, leaving her alone with the young man staring listlessly at his own bowl of food. Diana studied him for a moment and the feel of her eyes caused him to look up.

"Captain Marvel, I presume?" she asked. He half-nodded, half-shrugged in a thoroughly adolescent gesture.

"My name's Billy," he replied. "Billy Batson." Rage and fear warred in his eyes as he looked up. "Is she … are they going to die?"

"I do not know," Diana answered honestly. She took the seat previously occupied by Barry which was directly across from the young man. "You and Kara are close," she said. It was not a question, but he took it as one.

"Yeah, kinda," he said. "We hang out a lot and she helped me figure out what I wanted to do with my life." He gave that curious nod-shrug again. "You know, when I'm not fighting super-villains or battling monsters."

"Would that she had applied the same diligence for herself," Diana said with a wry smile.

"I know, right?" Billy gestured wildly. "She's like this super-genius who can do all this amazing crap and all she complains about is how badly her life sucks." He rolled his eyes. "Because being able to fly, or bench-press a tank, or shrug off bullets is so terrible." Despite herself, Diana smiled – she had heard much the same thing from Donna … and speaking of her own cousin, where had the little pest gone? Diana hoped the girl wasn't mooning over the Atlantean boy again.

"So, Mister Batson," Diana said slowly. "What great awakening did Kara lead you to?" The boy hesitated, but then slowly began to speak, growing more emphatic as he described the role he envisioned for himself. Diana listened carefully, silently making a note to consult with Lois later about possibly mentoring the boy. She had done wonders with her previous two apprentices and having him work with someone who knew he was more than human at times would go a long way in avoiding the usual sorts of secret identity hijinks so many of her fellow Leaguers complained about.

What she carefully did _not _address was Batson's direct hand in Lex Luthor's death. There would be investigations later and, if she were honest, Diana would not put it past that madman to have found a way to survive, particularly given his recent propensity for cloning. As a warrior, she recognized the occasional necessity to put down an enemy, but there were always metahuman detractors who would point at this incident and claim it was representative of the whole, no matter that the Metropolis mayor had already publicly thanked the League (and the Titans, it had to be admitted) for helping stop a terrorist madman.

"May I have a word?" Katar Hol asked some time later. He looked strangely smaller without his wings, but the fierceness in his eyes reminded her that he was not of Earth either. Diana nodded to the Thanagarian, noting instantly how Billy managed to seemingly vanish without actually moving. Was it a talent of his that came with his special abilities or something he had learned over the years? To Diana's eyes, he clearly had lived a difficult life but she was leery of pressing too hard. Men, it seemed, were prideful creatures who would insist they were fine even when their lifeblood was seeping out. She had seen it a dozen times before with men of the League. "General Trevor has requested you make contact with him," Katar said. "There have been some new developments, I think."

"Thank you." Diana rose. "We shall speak again, Mister Batson," she said with a friendly smile. To her surprise, Katar took her place and quickly engaged the boy in conversation. Before she was even out of the small dining facility, they were already arguing over some trivial sporting event. It was very hard not to roll her eyes.

She passed no one else in the corridors as she strode toward the communications room, though that was not an especially great surprise as many of the League were still in Metropolis, assisting with disaster relief or crowd control whenever necessary, while the rest currently on active duty were busy with other tsks. One of the first changes she'd implemented upon officially assuming chairman-status – and what a ridiculous, paternal name that was; she was rarely hung up on gender specific terms, but could they not have come up with something better? – was to establish a shift rotation for these sorts of events. Yes, the entire League _could _be on hand to assist emergency workers, but in most cases, some mad fool would choose the moment they were all occupied to launch a senseless assault upon civilization. Having at least half the team on stand-by was simply common sense.

The moment she saw Steve's face on the monitor, she knew it was not good news. Still, her mother had always taught her that the niceties must always be observed, even in the face of impending calamity.

"Hello, Steve," she said with a slight smile. "I did not have the chance earlier to offer my congratulations on your promotion," she added. He grinned.

"Yeah," he remarked with a shake of his head. "Not sure what they were thinking." His amusement faltered slightly. "I like the extra pay," he said, "but the only thing they let me fly these days is a desk." Diana smiled.

"I understand that you are also engaged to be wed," she added. Steve's face lit up, stripping him of a decade or more.

"Candy's been blabbing again, I see," he said. His eyes danced. "I _knew _she couldn't keep it under wraps like she promised." It was curious, Diana mused, that he still referred to his future wife by her last name – was this solely a military thing or was it something about Trevor himself? "Did she already invite you?" Diana nodded.

"She did."

"Dammit, _I _wanted to invite you." The smile he gave her was a self-deprecating one. "Well, we know whose going to be wearing the pants in this marriage already, don't we?" Diana returned his smile, even though she did not wholly comprehend his meaning.

"That is not why you made contact, however," she said. Steve's good humor fell away.

"No, it isn't." He grimaced. "The State Department asked me to check with you," he began. "There's been an … incident in Kahndaq and we're fairly certain that Batman fellow is involved." Diana narrowed her eyes.

"What sort of incident?" she demanded quickly. Bruce's absence from the Metropolis skirmish had not escaped her notice, but she'd been so distracted by the aftermath that it had slipped her mind. "Tell me everything."

/-\

If it was Thursday, Hal reflected grimly, he must be in Sector One-Two-One-Five and Cadmendoh.

He hated this planet even when he wasn't hiding the fact that he was a Green Lantern – back on his first real mission, he'd visited this festering hellhole with Sinestro, shortly after obtaining the ring in the first place and back before he knew his butt from a hole in the ground, and every time he'd returned since, the planet seemed to get worse. Even more discouraging was how he could look back on his first visit here with something like fondness which said a lot about how his life had played out the last couple of years. That had been before he realized how corrupt Sinestro already was …

Sadly, it had also been before he knew just how less than perfect the Guardians were as well.

Muted rage swam in his stomach as he picked his way through the crowded slums. The Guardians were hiding something directly linked to Superman's disappearance and not a day passed that Hal didn't start to wonder if perhaps Sinestro didn't have a point. He understood the chain-of-command well enough but not telling your troops something they didn't need to know and intentionally hiding pertinent details were two wildly different things. The Guardians knew something…

And whatever it was, it _terrified _them.

From what he'd learned over the past nine years of ring-slingling – and dear Lord, had it really been that long? God, he was getting old – there weren't very many things that freaked the Guardians out. That Parallax entity he'd heard about was one, and that Atrocitus clown, and then, they'd all looked like they crapped themselves when Hal reported about the Darkseid incursion on Earth back in '15, so he whatever they were hiding had to be big.

And that led him here, to this disgusting blister of a planet.

No one apart from the absurdly large bouncer even gave him a second look when he entered the bar and Hal paused in the doorway. He was dressed in dirty rags over a ragged bodysuit that (correctly) looked like it had been pulled out of someone's trash. His ring was hidden underneath torn but still functional (and mismatched, just for effect) gloves, and his features were obscured behind a scarf thing. There were enough humanoid-shaped aliens throughout the universe to not attract too much attention, but still, he intentionally limped as he walked. The ring pulsed slightly, drawing his attention to a corner table where a trio of other figures were huddled. One he quickly recognized despite her disguise, but the other two that sat with her weren't familiar to him

"I'm surprised to see you here," Shayera remarked when he approached. She looked weird without the wings and the freaky bird-mask.

"That makes two of us," Hal replied. He took a seat and placed his hands on the table. Glancing briefly at Shayera's two companions, he frowned. Both appeared humanoid, with the woman significantly taller and broader than the male. There was a strangeness to them that he could not quite put his finger on. Shayera gestured toward them

"This is," she began, but the male spoke quickly.

"You may call me Shilo," he said with a slight smile that did not touch his wary eyes. His remark caused Shayera to give him a questioning glance and Hal felt his very finely honed sense of danger begin going crazy "This is my wife, Barda."

"Hal," he said simply. He sent a quick command to his ring but strangely, it could not classify either of the two beings sitting in front of him. In fact, this was the same kind of non-reading he'd noted at Rimbor with the weapons signatures – the ring acknowledged that they were physically present and had active biological functions, but beyond that, it informed him that there were no additional records on file. He narrowed his eyes slightly.

"If you try to assault us, Lantern," the woman – Barda – announced calmly in a voice pitched only for his ears, "I will break you in half." It was nothing more than a statement of fact and his ring informed him that her biological functions had not deviated in the slightest. The males' and Shayera's showed hints of stress, but this woman? She might as well be a statue.

"Does the name Metron mean anything to you?" Hal asked in place of a reply. The two non-entities froze in place even as Shayera gave him an uncomprehending look. "Yeah," Hal said with a nod, "I thought it might."

"You must not say that name," the man who was clearly not named Shilo said in a hushed whisper. "He might hear you!" Hal glowered and leaned forward.

"I'm really not in the mood for this crap," he hissed. "I don't know why any of you are even here," he said, including Shayera in this, "and I honestly don't care. If you can't help me find my friend, then you're useless." He made to stand but the giantess seized his arm. Hal looked at her. "If you want to keep your hand," he said softly, "you'll want to let go."

She laughed.

"Stop it," the man said. He met the woman's eyes and they stared at one another for a long moment. Finally, she nodded and released Hal.

"I'm here because I'm following a lead," Shayera said. "One of my contacts said I should come here and ask for Barda." She gestured to the large woman. "I asked some questions and found out that she doesn't know anything." This time, she gestured to Hal. "And then you walked in."

"Dammit." Hal glanced around the bar but nothing leaped out at him as being out of place. "I met with one of Abin Sur's old contacts who pointed me here and said I should ask for Metron." Again, the other man winced. He opened his mouth to speak.

But time froze around them.

Hal was glancing away from the table – one of the barflies was setting off all of his freak radar – and he saw the instant when everyone in the bar ceased moving. His ring instantly began pumping alerts directly into his brain – along with equally useless 'unable to quantify' errors – and he sprang out of his chair, allowing his distinctive Lantern armor to burn away the disguise. He heard Shayera slide into place next to him and, with a curious sound of rustling feathers, her wings reappeared as she freed that heavy mace from where it had hung off her belt.

Something _boomed _– it was an all too familiar sound that caused Hal's stomach to lurch – and a humanoid male suddenly appeared. Dressed in blue and white, he was seated upon an absolutely bizarre-looking chair, but the power in his gaze … it made the oldest of the Guardians seem like an infant by comparison. Hal heard two strangled gasps before Shilo and Barda dropped to their knees in front of the seated figure.

"You seek understanding and wisdom, Hal Jordan, Shayera Hol," the figure said, his voice hinting at even more power. "I am your guide in this if you have the courage to witness."

"Who the hell are you?" Hal demanded. His head spun from the ring's constant 'unable to quantify' alerts.

"I am Metron." The figure's eyes shifted to the kneeling aliens. "Too long have you toiled in obscurity in your efforts to evade Uxas' eyes," Metron said. "Izaya will require your strengths in the war to come." Back to Hal and Shayera his eyes turned. "I cannot direct you to the Kryptonian," he said, "but I am willing to take you to one who can if you have the courage." Hal glanced at Shayera.

"I fear nothing," she retorted.

"Lead on, MacDuff," Hal replied.

"We transit to New Genesis," Metron announced. Another ground-shaking _boom_ echoed around them and one of those bizarre tube portals appeared. On the other side, Hal could see …

He saw Paradise.

"Come," Metron ordered. His chair floated through the portal. Shilo and Barda followed him without hesitation. Hal glanced at Shayera, then shrugged.

"What do we have to lose?" he asked before willing himself toward the wormhole his ring was still unable to quantify.

"Katar is going to kill me," Hal heard Shayera murmur as she followed.

A moment later, the portal collapsed and time restarted.

/-\

Helena was desperate.

She'd barely budged from her television as the talking heads breathlessly reported nothing new regarding Karen or Supergirl. The League had issued only a simple statement, declaring their conditions grave, but had said nothing more. And then, that Joker-related mess in Kahdaq briefly knocked the Kryptonians off the top headlines left Helena scrambling to get more information about her friend.

Tentatively, she'd reached out to Oracle, the mysterious super hacker who had somehow hacked her private system to deliver dad … Batman's warning about operating in his city before then offering Helena a job as a special operative. At the time, Helena had hesitated – she had no idea who this Oracle person was; there wasn't any equivalent on her world – but the hacker proved to be quite useful on several occasions and, before she knew it, Helena was working for the woman. Today, there was no answer, but that didn't actually mean anything as Helena rarely tried to make contact this early in the day. Heck, during the weekdays, she usually didn't even leave school until four, even later if any of her students had issues they needed her help with.

She briefly considered contacting Bruce Wayne, but discarded that idea almost immediately. According to local media, the 'Prince of Gotham' was abroad for a vacation or something – Helena wondered at the real reason; she hadn't seen any sign of him on the Metropolis reports. None of her normal contacts had any kind of link to the League, so they were right out.

Which left Selina Kyle.

Their paths had crossed several times over the last year, especially during missions for Oracle, and, against her better judgment, Helena had kept in touch with the sometime thief, sometime vigilante who looked so much like her mom. For her part, Selina was absolutely nothing like her mother, even though Helena saw flashes of similarity from time to time. This Selina was less polished, more independent, and a whole lot angrier (even if she hid it behind smiles and forced laughter.) Strangely, she was also a whole lot funnier – Mom might have joked and teased on occasion, but her humor was the sort you reserved for your children, whereas this Selina was like a naughty older sister.

"If you don't have a really good reason for getting me up at this God-awful hour," Selina said when Helena banged on her door sometime later, "I might very well have to kill you."

"I need to get to the Watchtower," Helena replied as she pushed past Selina. Glancing around, she was once again astounded at how tacky the décor was – her mother had, frankly, been something of an art snob who had an opinion on every piece she was quite willing to share, where Selina hung pictures and portraits almost at random, with no eye toward aesthetics or style. There was a big recreation of that stylized Kyle Rayner portrait of Superman crafted by a gajillion little photographs of the Man of Steel hanging next to a framed Rembrandt fake which was next to a generic oil painting of a bowl of fruit. Just looking at that mess …

Wait.

Helena frowned as she returned her attention to the Rembrandt. She studied it for a moment, before slowly looking toward Selina. The smirk on the older woman's face answered her unspoken question. Yes, it _was _a _real_ Rembrandt.

"This is supposed to be in London," Helena murmured. She suddenly realized the point of the tackiness – pieces like this could be hidden in plain sight and no one would give it a second look! – and mentally re-evaluated this version of Selina. Had her own mother done this sort of thing too? As Selina Wayne, she'd been free to be as much of an art snob as she wanted…

"It still would be if the Gallery director hadn't been a complete jerk," Selina remarked. She pushed her front door closed and had taken two steps from it when a buzz sounded through the upper floor penthouse. At Helena's glance, she smirked. "It's my Bat buzzer," she said. "I've got a program running that flags me when he's mentioned." Her expression darkened when Helena bit back a smirk. "Don't start with me," Selina warned. "I stole the idea from him. He does the same thing to me."

"And that makes it all better," Helena muttered under her breath as she followed Selina into another poorly decorated room, though this one had an impressive-looking computer system at one side and an even bigger television on the far wall. It took her a long minute to identify the most likely _real _works of art – a Monet and a vase that sincerely looked like a Ming – but Selina ignored her as she dug through the mess on her computer desk for a remote control. The television snapped on.

"-reporting live in Ethiopia. Karen, what do we know?"

"Not much at the moment, Jim. We know that Bruce Wayne was visiting Ethiopia with his ward, Jason Todd, in an attempt to track down Mister Todd's mother but it appears Gotham followed them in the form of the notorious mass murderer known as Joker." The pretty blonde anchor continued with a sad look. "Wayne was uninjured, but experts report that Todd and his mother, an American physician who was a member of Doctors Without Borders, were both killed."

"Oh, Bruce," Selina said softly, her eyes watering. She stared quietly at the television, but Helena doubted she heard anything else so intent was her focus on the video of Bruce Wayne now airing. He looked torn between despair and rage, with the latter barely controlled. Stepping lightly, Helena backed away, fully intent on making a discreet exit, but Selina turned to face her. "Here," she said, offering a slim phone. "Speed Dial Number Six," she added. "Tell him I cleared you."

Helena ducked out of Selina's penthouse minutes later, unsure how to respond to the implication that Robin was dead. On her world, there had only been one Robin. She knew Jason Todd, though. He'd been one of the less successful punks in Gotham who kept ending up in various gangs or as a tough for one of the city's rogues. There was almost something ironic about Joker killing him since Helena recalled the clown prince was the most common rogue that Todd henched for.

"I'm really busy, Selina," a male voice announced when she dialed the number. "Can this wait?"

"I'm sorry," Helena said. "This isn't Selina. She lent me her phone and said I should call." The voice on the other line remained silent for a long moment so she continued. "My friend is on the Watchtower," she said hesitantly. "The media says she's in grave condition but…"

"Ah." The simple remark was so unbelievably familiar that Helena almost dropped the phone. This was Dick Grayson she was talking to! They'd grown up together … or rather, she'd grown up with his alternate. "I can't promise anything, Miss Bertinelli," he continued, "but I'll check with some people. Keep the phone handy." He hung up before she say anything else.

And before she realized what he had called her. With a sigh, she slipped the phone into her pocket. Of course this version of Dick knew who she was claiming to be. Her dad … this world's Batman had probably staked out her apartment and broken in a couple times while she was at school.

An hour later, the phone buzzed – an incoming text – and she read the address with a frown. Her building. Of course. Mister Grayson was showing off which was exactly the sort of thing Dick would do. On reflex, she'd donned her Huntress outfit. As she had no idea who she was going to meet, it seemed a safe precaution. Time slipped by – she kept track of various developments involving Metropolis and Kahdaq through the headset integrated into her cowl – but with nothing to actually do, Helena soon began fighting off boredom. This wasn't a stakeout which always gave her something to focus on so all she could do was worry about Karen. She was moments away from redialing the number when an unexpected voice called out.

"Hello." The young woman who dropped out of the sky looked so much like Wonder Woman that Helena almost thought it was the princess herself, but a moment later, she recognized Diana's cousin. There was a hardness to this girl's eyes that looked out of place on her face. "You are not who I expected," Donna Troy declared with a frown.

"That makes two of us," Helena replied. She offered a wan smile. "I'm sorry to inconvenience you," she started, but the tall girl – she couldn't be more than sixteen or seventeen – interrupted.

"It is no matter," she declared. "Richard asked that this be done and I owe him my allegiance." It was a weird statement that must have meant something else in Themysciran, but by the time Helena had deciphered it, the Amazon had stepped forward and offered her arm. "Come," she ordered. "We will need to be in close physical proximity for me to extend my shield around you."

"Oh, man," Helena muttered. "This is going to suck, isn't it?" Donna flashed an almost malicious smile.

"Very likely," she said.

It did suck and lots. The Amazon took them higher and higher into the sky, an invisible barrier enveloping them both, and Helena made the mistake – once – of looking down. For the rest of the trip, she kept her eyes tightly closed and her hold on Donna firm. God, why couldn't Dick have sent someone like that magician girl or the new guy with the gold helmet who could teleport?

"You may relax now," Donna announced an eternity later. Helena opened her eyes and realized they were inside some sort of structure. She unclenched her muscles, releasing her death grip on the smirking Amazon, and inhaled slowly, unsteadily. "My cousin is this way," Donna stated, gesturing.

Wonder Woman stood outside the infirmary, speaking with a man Helena recognized at once. Michael Holt looked exhausted and not entirely happy, but he said something and turned away. As soon as he did, the Amazon princess frowned slightly but she cleared her expression at their approach and stepped forward to intercept them. The two Amazon women exchanged rapid words in a language Helena did not know and Donna bowed her head slightly before departing.

"Nightwing informs me you are close to Power Girl," Diana said calmly.

"She's my friend," Helena replied. "Is she okay? Can I see her?"

"In a moment." Wonder Woman pulled her lariat off her belt and held it out. "Even with Nightwing's assurances that you are not a threat," she said, "I must verify this fact myself." Helena sighed but held out her arm. The rope burned without actually damaging flesh as it slithered around her outstretched limb. "Are you a threat to the League or any members of it?" Wonder Woman asked in a stern voice.

"I am not," came Helena's instant, reflexive reply. "I just want to see Karen and make sure she's okay."

"She is not," Wonder Woman said softly. She gave the lariat a quick jerk and it released Helena. "The weapon that Luthor used appeared tailored intentionally toward Kryptonians." There was a hint of accusation in her voice as she glanced down at Helena. "Further," she said, "genetic analysis indicates your friend Karen is actually Kara Zor-El." Helena's shoulders slumped.

"It's … it's a long story." She glanced toward the infirmary door. "Can I see my friend please?"

With a slight pursing of her lips, Wonder Woman gestured toward the door. Helena strode forward, her cape flaring out slightly. At the window, she paused and frowned.

Karen was stretched out on a large hospital bed – it actually looked like two, welded together for some reason - seemingly asleep but twitching and jerking at random intervals. An isolation tent was also erected around her, but looked to have been mostly rolled up. Relief started to set in – Karen looked fine – but then, Helena suddenly remembered the princess' statement that she _wasn't _okay. She glanced at the Amazon, a question in her eyes.

"Look at her left hand," Diana instructed. Helena did so and nearly recoiled.

Karen had seven fingers!

Two of them were seemingly merging together, becoming a single finger, and with each twitch, the process seemed to leap forward. With a sheet covering most of Karen's body, Helena could not see if there were similar instances happening with other parts of her anatomy but … wait. Where was Kara?

"Where is Supergirl?" she asked, dread in her voice. "Is she in another infirmary?"

"We only have the one," Diana stated. "Luthor's weapon evidently caused massive cellular decay in Kryptonians but something about your friend caused … this." She sighed heavily. "You asked about Supergirl," she said. "You are looking at her. They are merging into a single entity."

* * *

**A/N #2: **That damned Luthor.

Regarding Clark's disappearance, I envisioned the whole ongoing multiple wars thing that is stretching the Lantern Corps thing to be a sort of Multi-Book Event (you know, like Blackest Night or Forever Evil) that I only very briefly touched on in each chapter that is just a tiny slice of a year (as with so many other things, like the only skimmed over Clark/Lois relationship, or the Diana/Steve one.) So it isn't that there isn't anyone looking for him, just that everything keeps exploding and they have to shelve the search for a short period of time. And then, yet another crisis pops up. Rinse, repeat.

Plus, as you just read, there were some other things going on with the Lantern investigation causing problems.

The Bat scene is an intentional homage to chapter 3 of the 'A Death in the Family' Batman arc. Originally, Bruce fought Shiva in Lebanon, but I relocated it to Kahndaq. I also envisioned Bruce wearing a suit more like what we see in the awesome Arkham Aslyum/City games that is, thanks to the Kryptonian specs, stronger and tougher than the armor he originally wore (see "The Dark Knight" movie). Or more likely, a combination of the two. I saw an awesome screen manip of that.

The Lantern scene directly references the excellent "Green Lantern: First Flight" animated movie which is what I'm considering Hal's 'origin story' in place of the mediocre movie with Van Wilder. To be honest, I'd forgotten about GL: FF until I rewatched it recently - they should have just filmed that in live action instead.


	11. Year Eleven: Truths

**Year Eleven: Truths**

**Author's Note: **See bottom. Also, there's something different about this chapter. Do you see it?

Fair warning: next chapter might be delayed. I'm using NaNoWriMo to push the next 50K of this story (this thing is getting insane in length) and haven't started working on Year 12 yet.

* * *

**WayneTech Closes on Acquisition of DTS, Inc.**

_Published September 18, 2023 / Vicky Vale_

GOTHAM CITY, IL – WayneTech today announced it has completed the acquisition of DTC, Inc., a privately held company headquartered in Gotham City. Financial terms were not disclosed.

DTC, Inc., widely regarded as a leader in software quality and testing solutions, has struggled in the last two years following the car accident that left company founder, Jack Drake, hospitalized. Industry experts have predicted the collapse of the company for months.

"For employees of DTC," WayneTech CEO Lucius Fox declared, "nothing will change. There are no plans to clean house or restructure. We just wanted them because no one is better and WayneTech prides itself on having the best."

**Click for more from Gotham Post Online**

/-\

Tomorrow was her wedding day.

Try as she might, Lois could keep from feeling wildly giddy at the realization. Richard – it was smarter to think of him by that name so she didn't slip up around certain people; neither of them could afford her making that kind of mistake – admittedly wasn't as enthusiastic about a wedding, but he'd agreed to one when he saw how much she was looking forward to it, provided they kept it small. Naturally, their respective definitions of small weren't the same. Richard wanted ten or maybe twenty at the most, while she wanted a hundred or so. They compromised with … a hundred or so.

Tonight, her surprisingly modest bachelorette party had taken place at absolutely amazing outdoor café she recently discovered in the noveau riche quarter of Metropolis where they enjoyed fine food, better wine and a positively staggering view of the city. A couple of her girlfriends were disappointed that she'd avoided taking the male stripper route, but if she was honest, Lois would have been just as happy staying home and watching television; she'd lost interest in hard drinking and loud music ten years ago, especially when her career started taking off and a good night's sleep was sometimes better than sex. The café was absolutely perfect – the uptight wait-staff were nearly Nazi-like in their zeal to ensure their expensive clientele were satisfied, the wine flowed freely, and laughter was plentiful – and the view was divine. By the time the party split up, Lois was almost floating on good cheer. Today had been a good day.

She just wished Clark was here to see it.

Now, as she leaned out over her apartment balcony and stared at Metropolis, her thoughts turned once more toward her missing friend. God, she wished she could see him again, or hear him laugh, or watch him play a joke on Lombard. She missed him – not in the romantic sense as that boat sailed long ago – but just as her friend.

"You have been quiet for some time." The speaker, Diana, was in her civilian disguise, with the glasses that somehow diverted most attention away from her. Most, but not all; she still drew eyes tonight, being so damned tall and statuesque, but it was only interest from men (and women) who found her attractive. For a change, Diana hadn't needed to use one of the many little magical tokens she sometimes carried with her to further cloak herself or redirect attention elsewhere.

If she was honest, Lois would admit to being surprised that Diana had been able to make it at all. In between a rash of superhuman criminals sweeping the planet, over the last several months, the Amazon princess had also been instrumental in uncovering and finally shutting down an extraterrestrial incursion that, unlike the previous attacks on Earth, relied more on stealth and guile than open force. This was probably the first time in five or six months that she'd seen Diana when the princess wasn't wearing her full battle regalia. It almost seemed as though a new crisis exploded even before the previous one had been fully resolved.

"Just thinking," Lois replied. She smiled languidly – thanks to many glasses of wine, she was pleasantly buzzed; not quite enough to lose her focus, but her inhibitions were certainly loosened somewhat – and gestured with her glass. "You didn't drink much tonight," she remarked. None of Lois' other girlfriends seemed to notice – except maybe Amy who was probably too busy still trying to pretend she was straight, even though she watched Diana with as much lust in her eyes as any man – but that was one of her talents, noticing things, and she'd observed how distracted her super-powered friend was.

"Mortal alcohol has little effect on me," Diana said simply. Lois blinked.

"That … that must really suck," she said, her words causing Diana to smile.

"It does." The Amazon pushed her glasses up onto her head. "There are days I long for an intoxicant strong enough to make dealing with disagreeable individuals easier."

"Like Bruce?" Lois asked with a snicker.

"_Especially_ Bruce," Diana replied. She did not relax, even as she returned Lois' smile, and it was the tension in the larger woman's body that finally clued Lois in that her friend was on edge. Frowning, Lois glared at the wineglass – evidently she was a little more ineb … inebret … evidently she was a bit drunker than she would like to admit. With wobbly fingers, she set the glass aside.

"Is something wrong?" she asked softly. From the way the Amazon winced, it wasn't soft enough.

"I don't know," Diana replied. "I have not been off duty for … seven months? Yes, I think it is seven." She shook her head. "The League is spread too thin," she continued, "and too many of this world seem to be embracing madness." Diana sighed. "I am tired, Lois. Pay no attention to my complaints."

"Didn't I just bitch about Perry for like an hour?" Lois retorted. "I think you're entitled to a little bit of complaining." She was about to comment further when she noticed how little of Diana's attention she had. Following the line of the Amazon's gaze, Lois frowned at the television. The red-headed Green Lantern – Gardner, wasn't it? – was once again on the news as he battled some metahuman in Dallas. As usual, he seemed disdainful of property damage and, from the way Diana was glowering at the report, she was not the only one who disapproved of his tactics. Unlike his two predecessors, he'd never been formally invited to join the League which only fueled his antics ... and that begged the question: where _were _the other two Lanterns? The last Lois had heard, one of them – Stewart, the former Marine – was still recovering from injuries, but she honestly couldn't recall when she'd last seen or heard of the other one, the first Lantern.

"I do not know," Diana said when Lois vocalized her question. Her off-duty apparel was gone, replaced by the gleaming silver and gold armor she was so well known for. The black undersuit was gone, though from what Lois understood, it was actually still there and simply couldn't be seen by mortal eyes. Diana sighed. "We occasionally receive reports from him – he is still searching for Kal and insists he is getting closer – but I do not know where he actually is." Guilt was stamped on the Amazon's face at mention of Clark as well as something that almost looked like … longing? Lois was silent for a moment as she tried to wrestle her thoughts into submission. Stupid wine. Stupid cute waiter who kept her equally stupid glass full.

"So, what happens if he finds Clark?" she asked slowly. Diana squared her shoulders.

"The moment Hal locates him," she said in a strong voice, "I will rally the entire might of the League to retrieve him." There was no doubt in her voice, no hesitation, and an implied threat of wholesale destruction against those that might dare to keep her away from Clark. "I have been setting the groundwork for such an offensive," Diana continued. "We are gathering our strength." She looked skyward. "But knowing where to point the sword is as important as being able wield it."

"Do you love him?" The question tumbled out of Lois' mouth before she could really stop it. The wine was to blame, of course, and Lois' own maudlin thoughts about how disconnected from everyone Clark had been before the United Nations asked him to visit Rimbor. Even now, she did not think it was because they'd ended their relationship, but just the memory of how alone he seemed to be filled her with sadness.

"Kal?" Diana asked with a sidelong look. Lois nodded, fully expecting some sort of deflection or politician's answer. Instead, Diana smiled tightly. "Yes," she said simply. "I have for some time actually. Before he left." She blushed and glanced away. "Before you and he ended your relationship, in truth," she added.

"And you never told him?"

"There was never the time." Diana abruptly smirked. "You expected me to dissemble."

"I did," Lois admitted.

"I cannot tell a purposeful mistruth, Lois," Diana said, her hand dropping to the softly glowing lariat at her side. "Even to myself." Lois frowned in confusion. She didn't understand and there was nothing she hated more than not getting it. Her expression must had reflected her inner turmoil because Diana pulled the lariat free and offered it to her. On instinct, Lois accepted.

It was like holding pure sunlight in her hands, or a rope made of air and dreams. There was a hint of a much greater presence looming just out of sight but Lois couldn't find the person. The lariat rapidly grew warmer, like it was a pot of water on a slow-cooking stove. God, she would love to be able to borrow this thing and wrap up the president or maybe that jerk of a Speaker. Demand they answer her questions. Anymore, they barely looked at her … though that was probably because she was forty-four now, with hair rapidly going gray, and had a well-earned reputation as a shrew. Anger chased the despair when she caught Diana watching her – it wasn't fair. She was getting older but Diana just stayed the same, eternally young and beautiful. A part of Lois hated her for that, loathed her because she could soar through the clouds like Clark, and wanted to wrap this stupid rope around her neck and squeeze.

On the heels of that, though, she realized how much she _didn't _envy Diana. The weight of the world seemed to be on her shoulders as each day made it seem even more unlikely that Clark would return. Diana was the face of the Justice League now, and she was, for all intents and purposes, the leader of a sovereign nation. She had to deal with trolls like the American Secretary of State, or the U.N. General Secretary on a daily basis. Even so, the world would always remember her, Diana, the Wonder Woman from Themyscira. Would anyone remember Lois Lane? She had two Pulitzers to her name but no one not a reporter could name a winner from five years ago and why should they? The media was a joke. Everyone hated them. The career she'd spent so much time building up and focusing on for her entire life was dying around her. Would there even be a _Daily Planet _in five years? Circulation was down everywhere, venerable papers like the _L.A. Times _were on the verge of closing their doors permanently and where would she be then? A washed up reporter who could only point to the old days.

"Gah," Lois hissed as she released the lariat and let it fall to the floor. Instantly, the fog of self-doubt in and inner recriminations faded away.

"The Lariat is a powerful tool in the right hands," Diana said as she knelt to gather the lasso up. It slithered back onto her belt like a snake. "But it forces you to face your doubts and fears." She smiled sadly as she stood. "The wielder of this Lariat may never lie, even to themselves." She looked to the sky.

"God," Lois murmured. She realized her buzz was completely gone and her hand ached. "I don't know how you can live like that."

"One adapts." Diana smiled. "There are times that it is quite liberating to be unburdened by falsehood," she said, though something in her expression caused Lois to doubt that statement. "It has also allowed me to see through most lies and deception." This was said almost innocently, as if it was simply an off-hand remark.

Instinctively, Lois tensed.

To her surprise, Diana simply nodded. There were no accusations or threats, only a simple acceptance that Lois was concealing something from her. Guilt curled and twisted inside Lois' stomach – she hated secrets herself, and despised having to keep this one but something kept her from speaking. They stood there, silently, for a long moment before the buzzing of Diana's communicator.

"I am here," Diana said into the air. A moment later, she nodded. "Understood. I am on my way." She floated up off the balcony and glanced to Lois. "Circe is causing trouble," she began.

"Go." Lois smirked. "Try not to get punched in the face. I still need you for tomorrow." Diana nodded and then arrowed up into the sky.

Sober again and more troubled than she wanted to admit, Lois re-entered her apartment and pushed the door shut. She padded silently to her desk, pausing to pick up her phone and dial a number. It rang only twice.

"It's me," she said into the open line. "We might have a problem. Diana suspects something." There was a pause.

"I will look into it," came the response of the man whose name was _not _Richard White. "Get some sleep, Lois. Tomorrow is a big day."

/-\

Dark thoughts pursued Diana well into the next day.

Circe was long gone by the time she reached the reported site, but the chaos left in the witch's wake needed to be set right – metamorphosis of people into animals mostly; capturing them was the most difficult part as her lariat easily shattered the spell when wrapped around the target – and that dragged on into the very early morning. By dawn, Diana was exhausted and still had Lois' wedding to look forward to.

She sleep-walked through much of the ceremony, excusing herself twice to deal with issues that popped up – Cheetah causing trouble first, and then a bank robbery in downtown by thugs with advanced technology leftover from LexCorp's collapse – but no one noticed her discreet exits and reappearances. No one but Bruce, of course.

He pretended that he didn't, of course, but then, he was playing the Fop today with an extra dash of annoying and a large heaping of idiot-savant. His date was far from amused – Ms. Kyle glared rather darkly each time Bruce acted the fool and had some rather choice words for him when they were distant enough from other attendees to not be overheard – but Diana was happy enough just seeing a flicker of his old self through the shell of rage and grief that had been his ever-present companion since Jason Todd died. There were even rumors that the Batman was running around in Gotham with Robin once more.

Once the ceremony ended and relocated to a reception area with a wide dance floor, Diana excused herself a third time, though there was no emergency to handle. Once outside, she breathed in the air and stared at the sky, once again wishing for things that could not be. She was so tired. Hera help her, she was so damned tired.

"You are strangely ill at ease in these surroundings, sister." Diana froze at Circe's all too familiar voice and slowly turned her head toward the witch. If she had wanted to, Circe could have struck without Diana even knowing she was there and the thought sent a chill through her veins. To her great surprise, though, she observed the witch step forward and lean on the railing, a wine glass in hand. For a change, Circe was wearing clothes that did not look out of place in the modern world, and even her hair was subdued – normally, it was a blazing purple color, but at the moment, it was dark brown bordering on black with purple highlights. "You should try this wine," Circe said with a pleased smile as she sipped. "I have lived for thirty centuries," the witch remarked, "and never have I tasted such a wondrous wine." She inhaled deeply.

"I am in no mood to fight today, Circe," Diana said in a low voice. She stared at the woman with the same expression she would reserve for a feral beast or a deadly viper, but Circe laughed lightly.

"Nor am I," the witch said. She gestured with her wineglass. "I came here fully intending on visiting chaos and heartache to your _friend._" The last word was heaped with scorn. "But then I tasted this wine," Circe continued, "and I changed my mind." She sipped again, closing her eyes in delight. "Any woman who drinks this is a woman I cannot hate," she declared. Diana wet her lips – her innate sense of truth, an ability that had grown considerably more precise of late, told her that Circe was being completely honest for a change – but finally decided to let the moment pass. Yes, this woman was a monster but a fight here would endanger far too many people. The smirk that twisted the witch's lips indicated she knew quite well the direction of Diana's thoughts, but Circe made no attempt to mock. Instead, she returned her attention to the wide expanse of Metropolis Bay. "Darkness stirs," she said abruptly. "Things move in the shadows that are not of this world." She swirled her wine around. "Something dark and powerful seeks to command those that hear chaos' song."

"And _you _of all people tell me this out of the goodness of your heart?" Diana asked, her tone as carefully neutral as she could manage. There was no accusation in her words, merely the acknowledgement that Circe was not the most trustworthy of sources. The witch laughed.

"I tell _you _this," Circe said, "in the certain knowledge that you will rally your fellow champions and seek out the hand in the dark." Again, she drank, though this time it was no sip. "I will kneel before no master," she added, "be it god or mortal or eldritch horror." With a flick of her wrist, she cast the empty wineglass away – in mid-flight, it transformed into a tiny bird and climbed into the sky. "Ares is cast from his throne of blood and fire," Circe said, "and there are many who scramble to seize his place. Yet others seek to supplant the whole of the Olympians from their mighty fortresses in the sky." A dark frown marred her otherwise flawless features. "There are whispers in the dark that even I cannot ignore and all of creation trembles upon a terrible precipice." She cast her ageless eyes upon Diana. "You and yours would be wise to prepare for a night so black, even the stars cannot burn."

And then, she was gone.

The acrid stench of brimstone and fire curled up into the night from where the witch had once stood though a warm breeze promptly carried it away. Diana blinked. This was not the first time Circe had shown unexpected depths but the barely controlled fear in the witch's body language only deepened her concern. There had been no deception here that she could discern, no lies or carefully chosen words intended to hide a deeper gambit, but rather, an honest warning of danger if phrased in the obscure manner all Magi seemed to love. She made a mental note to speak with Zatanna and Fate upon the morrow.

"You've gotten quite good at stealth," Bruce commented as he approached a short time later. "I didn't even see you leave that time."

"I've have a great deal of practice," Diana replied automatically. She eyed him, noting the almost goofy smile on his face that did not touch his eyes. So, it was more of the Fop, then? Hera, she hated dealing with that particular mask. "Lois is going to kill you soon if you keep up this act."

"If Selina doesn't beat her to it." Bruce smirked. To her silent relief, his fake smile fell away and he once again became the trusted friend. "Is there something I need to be aware of?" he asked flatly. "You've been more distracted than normal today."

"I have my reasons." For a moment, she considered explaining, considered letting slip her temper and venting her frustrations. Her task, her sacred charge was to wage peace, but the world of late seemed to have fallen even deeper into chaos and if Circe's warnings were true, there was a hand hidden in the shadows directing it. Was this an unseen foe she knew nothing about or was this the actions of an old Enemy? She felt like Sisyphus himself, struggling with his impossible task, and there was no one else who could shoulder the burden with her. Who could she turn to? Bruce? Hardly. Gotham was his whole world and the rest of the planet could burn as long as his cruel city limped on. Donna? They could barely speak these days without rancor, though Hippolyta claimed that was because they were too alike in every way. Kara was still trying to find her center following the … incident with Luthor; Billy was still a boy; Hal was too often a fool, especially if a woman was nearby. The list could go on for eternity and none were acceptable.

And the lies! Hera help her, but the lies were the hardest to stomach. Little and small, they seemed to be the unsteady foundation of each mortal's life. Bruce told himself that he could turn that middens of a city into something worthwhile without stepping over certain lines; Hal thought himself better than every other men in every facet, but especially in terms of will because he wielded a mighty power; Oliver claimed he could finally reign in his wandering eye, as if a tiger could alter its stripes; Dinah convinced herself that this time, the broken man she loved truly meant what he said; Barry insisted he was beyond anger and that nothing – _nothing _– could enrage him enough to take a life; Lois …

Lois. Her lies were both more frustrating and dangerous. The secret she kept – and Diana's gaze drifted toward Richard White, now dancing with his new wife – was one that she feared others knowing, but so clearly wanted to advertise at the same time. The lies, the deceit, they made Diana burn.

She knew that it was silly of her – they all had every right to keep certain parts of their lives secret – but the taste of lies, both large and small, sat poorly with her. It had for a very long time, in truth, but of late, as she became more attuned to her Lariat and it to her, every part of Diana revolted against falsehood. These days, it was almost physically painful for her to tell even a half-truth which had led to more than a few … interesting conversations. When Bruce scowled and acted like a child because he did not get his way, she would no longer massage his ego, and when Oliver played the cad or said something sexist, she now called him upon it. The media adored her newfound bluntness and the public seemed to appreciate it even more, which frankly said everything that needed to be said about the state of their elected representatives or rulers, but the truthsense she seemed to have developed was damning. Now, when Barry claimed he was late to a League meeting because of his wife, she knew that he was not dissembling, but the exceptional liars within the League – Bruce, Dinah, Oliver, and Zatanna – could no longer deceive her. No one could lie to her anymore.

Not even her mother.

Diana frowned as she once more turned her attention toward the night. She did not want to think about what her mother might be hiding, but it was becoming more and more obvious each time they spoke. Whatever it was, it troubled Hippolyta each time they spoke. Oh, the queen insisted that Diana was imagining things whenever she brought it up, or found some way to change the subject, but there was something Mother did not want her to know, something that terrified her in a way that Diana could hardly fathom.

"From your silence," Bruce remarked, "I'm guessing there _is _something I need to know." He watched her carefully, from a carefully poised stance, and Diana almost smiled. They both knew she could break him with a single blow, but she was not fool enough to think he did not have some trick up his sleeve. Hermes claimed Bruce was descended from wily Odysseus himself and that line had bred true.

"Perhaps another time," Diana said. She glanced back at the wedding party. "Please inform Lois that … tell her I had to leave." That was the most honest truth Diana could manage – if she had to stay here, basking in the reflected light of these happy couples who lied to themselves and each other, she feared what might happen. Without waiting for Bruce's reply, she swam upward, coursing through the sky at a speed just below supersonic.

Long minutes later, she slowed to a hovering halt and looked down at the wide ocean spread out below her. Something wasn't right. Rarely was she in this foul a mood. Could Circe have done something to her that she did not notice? Or was it something else, something deeper that she was not yet fully conscious of? Twice before in recent years, the gods had visited upon her cryptic dreams and visions … this might be the same. Surely they would have to be concerned about the rise of a shadow lord. Further reflection was necessary. And with a simple nod, she wrapped Hephaestus' shield around her body and dove toward the clouds, her heart lighter than it had been in a long time.

She was going home.

/-\

Hidden from sight by a cloak of clouds, Athena watched her charge race home. She exhaled softly in quiet relief – it had required immense concentration and every one of her secret talents learned from centuries of bonding with Nabu to direct Diana's mind toward Themyscira. Damn the girl and her hard head. She was more attuned than Athena had wagered and clearly sensed the growing darkness which, at the moment, would not do. If Apollo's predictions were true – and they always were – Diana would soon been too distracted to concentrate on Circe's warning and that was essential if the grand scheme was to play out as desired.

"Hermes," she murmured softly and instantly, the Messenger was at her side. He too wore a cloak fashioned by Hephaestus that would divert eyes from him, but the danger of his current mission made it necessary. "How fares your charge?" she asked.

"Poorly," Hermes replied. "One of the Dark One's acolytes – an Amazon from an alternate Earth, I regret – wishes Kal-El to sire a child upon her." The god of boundaries scowled. "He is in no shape, physically or mentally, to resist, so she takes by force what he would not give her at any other time."

"He resists?"

"Yes." Again, Hermes frowned. "Though I fear he nears the end of his strength," he said darkly. "This foul woman looks too much like Diana for anything good to come of it." Hermes glowered. "I whisper courage and resilience into his ear when there are none to hear, but they suspect someone aids him," he said. "I must admit, if only to you, that I am of a mind to present Kal-El with an opportunity for escape should one present itself and to Oblivion with Father's plan." To her utter lack of surprise, Athena noted Hermes' hopeful, pleading look. She considered – of all the Olympians, he alone had seen the terror and madness wielded by the Dark One on that black and shattered world, and if he feared for Kal-El's sanity … their grand scheme could not succeed without him. Without both of them, she corrected as she glanced in the direction of Diana, now disappearing over the horizon. Finally, she nodded.

"Act as you see fit," she instructed. "I will support your decision." Hermes smiled broadly and then, before she could stop him, leaned forward and quickly kissed her on the lips. He faded from this dimension before she could push him away, leaving behind only his mocking laughter. Shaking her head, Athena pulled her cloak of clouds tighter and turned her eye toward another of her very distant kin.

/-\

There was absolutely nothing better in the world than flying.

Streaking over the ocean, barely a half meter above it, Kara grinned and simply enjoyed living. Behind her, a curtain of water thrown up by the speed of her passage almost appeared to be pursuing her and, with a sharp flex of her abdominal muscles, she arced up, streaking straight into the sky at such a prodigious rate that the air boomed at her passage. She hit the upper atmosphere mere seconds later, but then concentrated on her abilities and came to an abrupt halt. There was no sound here, nor any oxygen, but her lungs were strong and she did not need to breathe for a bit.

God, it was good to be alive!

Her scarlet cape floated leisurely in the absence of gravity as she stared down on the little blue world that had come to mean so much to her. Memories flooded her awareness – too many, too conflicting – but she closed her eyes and concentrated on incorporating them into her mental landscape. It was odd having two sets of memories to draw upon, but she'd grown accustomed to them. It certainly hadn't been any harder than acquainting herself with the muscles of her new body.

With a grin, she let herself fall Earthward, accelerating toward the expanse of blue that was the Pacific Ocean. Angling her body downward, she knifed through the water, then twisted up and out of the sea, moving so quickly that she was wet for only a heartbeat. Spinning in mid-air, she laughed out loud.

_Enough play_, she told herself as she aimed her body east and poured on the speed. She was already late for dinner and Billy had promised they could do whatever she wanted after. Again, she laughed – they would likely end up having sex again if she had her way. Kara, being so new to Earth and still unsure of herself, had never realized the extent of Billy's interest in her, but Karen had seen it straight away. Now that she was both, she saw clearly and loved him even more – he was growing into a fine man, looking more like his Captain Marvel self every day. Soon, he would be able to interact with his friends as Billy in his Marvel self and no one would be able to tell the difference.

She'd just flashed over the Hawaiian Islands when her suit's integrated comlink chirped. Slowing her transit to no faster than a commercial aircraft, she lifted her left arm up and spoke into it.

"Receive," she ordered. A heartbeat later, the line crackled open.

"Are you available for Metropolis patrol?" the gravelly but instantly recognizable voice of The Batman asked. He was evidently not wearing the voice modulator and, by concentrating, she could hear the sound of merriment in the background. She frowned – today was Lois Lane's wedding day (and how weird was it that she wasn't marrying Clark? On her world, the Lois she knew was madly in love with Kal-El and he with her, whereas in this one, that clearly wasn't the case.) Princess Diana was supposed to be attending. "Kara?" The Bat asked when she remained silent for a moment longer than he would like.

"I can be," she replied. "Do you want just a flyby or a 'loiter and be noticed by the citizens' type of appearance?"

"The latter," Wayne said. "And try not to make a scene this time." He disconnected the line before she could respond and point out that the incident he was obliquely referring to had not been her fault. If that moron with the Lantern ring had been paying attention to his job instead of her exposed cleavage, he wouldn't have caused so much property damage. And speaking of exposing herself…

"Call Billy," she ordered. The tiny but durable transmitter in her decorative but ultimately useless wrist guards trilled softly. "It's me," she said as soon as he answered. "I've got to swing by Metropolis and wave the flag for some reason."

"Need some company?" Billy asked. "It shouldn't take me but a couple of minutes to get there." Kara considered it for a moment, then shook her head even though he couldn't see her.

"Probably a bad idea," she replied with a grin. "I might get the spontaneous urge to throw you to the ground and have my wicked way with you. This new mayor is leery enough about us metas; I doubt he'd like it if we had sex on Byrne Avenue." He laughed.

"Understood. Give me a shout when you're done and we can do a late dinner."

She deviated briefly to Fawcett City anyway, not to drop in on Billy, but to check on something at Starrware Labs, her burgeoning tech company. Right now, there were only a handful of employees – Billy sucked at all things technical so she couldn't in good conscience offer him employment; fortunately, his adopted sister, Mary, was frankly kind of awesome and had eagerly accepted the job of quality control – but they were growing. It was ironic that so many of the jerks in her field seemed to think that a tall, busty, blonde couldn't have functioning brain cells, but that had worked out rather nicely for her as they constantly underestimated her. Having an in with the industry leader probably didn't hurt, but the work that WayneTech subcontracted out to her was only a step forward.

What was even more amazing, though, was how much she enjoyed the work. Before the Incident, Karen had liked the work well enough – the marriage of Kryptonian knowledge and Earth technology was challenging but utterly fascinating – but afterward, she just couldn't get enough of it. She could lose entire days on a project and this newfound dedication was paying strong dividends. By week's end, they were scheduled to present a new solar panel that would more than quadruple the efficiency of the best photovoltaic module on the market.

"Greetings, Kara," a disembodied voice declared as she dropped through her skylight and landed lightly in her office. "How may I be of assistance?"

"Is Diana at the Fortress?" she asked as she flipped quickly through the mail on her desk. Nothing was especially important, so she tossed the stack back into the inbox.

"No, madam." Kelor's voice did not change even though the servitor was not truly present. The decision to allow the Fortress A.I. to link up with her own computer systems was one she'd struggled with but ultimately, having access to its database was just too great an advantage to pass up. "The Mistress has not been present for two solar rotations." As always, Kara grinned at the title assigned to Diana – she very much wanted to see Kal-El's face when he realized the A.I. had classified the princess as his mate. Just the thought of her cousin, still missing for just over three years now, caused her good humor to falter. She made a mental note to ask the princess if she could assist in the hunt – before, when she was two separate beings, neither one of them had felt they had the right to get involved, but now, she simply didn't care what other people thought.

Glancing to her left, she paused very briefly at her reflection in the door-sized mirror. Physically, she looked almost exactly like she had when she and Helena crossed over into this world. Her eyes were a little bluer, her face just a little younger, and her skin less tanned, but apart from that, she looked mostly the same. When she spoke, though, it was her voice as this world's Kara that emerged – higher pitched, a tiny bit less mature sounding, and still with the Kryptonian accent she'd long since learned to hide on her other world. She was still addicted to cheesecake like Kara, but now lusted after a good coffee like Karen. She shook her head. That wasn't right. She couldn't think of Kara and Karen as separate individuals – they were her and she was them. She could remember waking up in the cryo-pod with Kal-El looking down at her _and _she could remember it happening in a field, with a different (but strangely the same) Kal-El staring at her.

The uniform she'd donned was a combination of the two. Her love of the white over the blue had won out and she just felt weird not having the boob window – okay, she might be a _little _vain about her assets, but she remembered more than a few times back on the other Earth where her exposed cleavage caused just enough of a distraction to allow her to seize the upper hand. Unwilling to completely discard the House of El connection, though, she'd altered this suit's cleavage window to the diamond-shape so prevalent on Krypton and bore the House of El sigil on her scarlet cape. All in all, it was a quite adequate look – she didn't want to be thought of as Superman's cousin, after all, but wanted to have her own identity. The media was still struggling whether to call her Supergirl or Power Girl, and a couple had even taken to calling her Superwoman … which she had to admit was much better, even if all of the codenames were still just a little goofy sounding. Honestly, was 'Kara' really that hard to say?

She soared up into the night, out of her office, and arced toward Metropolis almost leisurely. Her path almost took her toward Gotham and she was very tempted to drop in on Helena, though in the end, she decided against it. They hadn't talked much in the last year or so, not since the Incident and her decision to begin asking that people call her Kara Starr. Like pretty much everyone else _but _Billy, Helena was more than a little freaked out by the merge and seemed completely unsure how to talk to her. Why was it so hard for people to understand that she was both women now? That she had successfully integrated two sets of memories? Kara shook her head and flew on.

There was a plane in trouble over Pennsylvania that needed some help, so by the time she reached Metropolis, the city's night shift had come to life. Exactly as Bruce requested, she made sure that she was seen as she slowly cruised over the city. There was always someone who needed some assistance – an amorous couple were being followed by a would-be hold-up artist, a domestic was in progress over on Siegel Street, a police officer was calling for backup as he pursued a murder suspect – and Kara had to really push herself to help them all. The couple in danger never saw her appear between them and the thug about to jump them – he panicked at her scowl, dropped his knife and fled – and the cop tackled his suspect when she dropped down in front of them, allowing the criminal to literally run into her back and bounce backward. As usual, the domestic was the most difficult thing to resolve and she was forced to simply call it into 9-1-1 without actually getting involved. She floated just above the Daily Planet building, senses intent on the building argument between the husband and wife, and muscles poised to spring into action if either of them turned their loud disagreement into something physical. For all of her abilities, these were the times she felt the most powerless – if she intervened, this couple would automatically unite against her, but if she did nothing, someone might get hurt. They were arguing over money, but that wasn't a surprise really since most of these sorts of things seemed rooted in finances.

"You've been busy tonight," Captain Sawyer said an hour or so later when she dropped off an idiot who'd thought he could break into a building through the thirtieth floor. "I've got reports of you all over the city."

"Just trying to help," Kara replied with a smile. Her smile almost turned into a grin at the less than discreet way Captain Sawyer glanced at her cleavage. Well, that confirmed that theory. "Anything else I can help with?"

"If you could knock some sense into this new mayor," the captain muttered, "I'd be immensely grateful." Kara chuckled as she climbed back into the sky.

"I'll see you around, Captain," she called out. There were photographers waiting – she thought she recognized Olsen of the Planet who had graduated to actual reporter but generally handled his own camera – and she slowed her ascent just enough to be seen. Throwing them a jaunty wave, she kept climbing. If that wasn't enough waving the flag for that Bat, then she didn't know what else was necessary. Besides, Billy was waiting and she was looking forward to seeing him again. There was a new … trick she wanted to try.

Grinning, Kara soared into the night.

/-\

The first day of the new school year was always the hardest.

As this was her first official year of solo teaching, Helena was more than a little nervous, but she'd trained under the harshest of taskmasters imaginable and was able to hide any hesitation from all but the sharpest of observers. There were twenty-seven in this period – Ninth Grade English – and she surveyed them quickly, easily isolating the ones that would be trouble, the ones who couldn't be bothered, the ones who would excel and the ones who shouldn't be here in the first place but had been passed anyway. Most of the troublemakers were boys and she realized her looks would not be an asset here – with them swimming in hormones and her an attractive authority figure … yeah. That wasn't an option. So she would have to be the cruel, heartless Nazi.

She introduced herself, laid out the ground rules for expected behavior – one of the troublemakers very quickly found himself on his way to the dean for his runaway tongue and offensive language, but from his behavior, she suspected he was pretty much a lost cause anyway – and then began calling roll, mentally tagging the names with the faces. At the same time, she tried to get a feel for the student in question and how he or she fit into the school's social hierarchy. It was a simple game her dad had taught her that was wildly useful.

"Timothy Drake."

"Here." The young man in question was a little younger than the others, which tracked since he'd evidently skipped a grade. He was one of the ones who would probably excel if his grades and physical appearance were any indication – despite being a little smaller than the other boys, his long sleeves did not conceal well developed arms, though Helena doubted any of the other kids were aware of that. Based on his noticeable isolation from his peers, she guessed that he was resented for being smarter than the others and he'd focused his problems into physical fitness. One day, Helena mused with an inward smile, he would be seen without his shirt by some of the girls and Mister Drake would become very popular, very quickly.

"Ariana Dzerchenko," she called out. From the surprised look on the dark-haired girl's face, her correct pronunciation was not a common event.

"Here." The girl had a subtle but noticeable accent herself, which definitely explained why she was in the same sort of isolated bubble that Drake sat in. If this world was anything like her's, Helena suspected Ms. Dzerchenko was bullied and harassed because she was different.

"Did I pronounce that correctly?" Helena asked, more out of reflex than anything else.

"You did, ma'am," Ariana replied with a hesitant smile. "Cпасибо," the girl said a moment later, a testing glint in her eyes. Helena smirked.

"Пожалуйста," she answered before moving on to the next name.

By the end of the day, she was exhausted, even more than normal. Good God, dealing with fourteen and fifteen year olds was hard work. Their attention spans seemed to vacillate between non-existent and indifferent, and hardly any of them seemed to care about being able to properly speak English. This being Gotham, she'd been utterly unsurprised to realize that at least fifty percent of the students were carrying weapons – in her admittedly brief examination, it seemed like a hundred percent of the faculty were packing and that included the eighty year old librarian – even though this particular school was obviously more affluent than many others, but what did give her pause was how little bullying she noticed.

Once the sun went down, she took to the rooftops as Huntress, more to burn off all of her nervous energy than anything else. Something – she chalked it up to that brief exchange she had with Ms. Dzerchenko earlier in the day – directed her toward the tiny Little Moscow district of Gotham and it was there that she saw the new Robin.

He was crouched in the shadows of a large water tank atop one of the many apartment buildings and was using binoculars to watch what looked like a drug deal going down. Helena hesitated – right now, she really didn't want to attract too much attention to herself, not from the Bats – but was unable to tear her eyes from him. Gotham seemed oblivious to the fact that this was the third Robin, though most everyone seemed at least peripherally aware that Nightwing of the Titans was the first Robin. Whoever this kid was, though, he wasn't anyone Helena knew.

She glided closer, hugging the shadows and creeping into place so she could get a better look at him. Unlike the previous Robins, he wore a dark hood that was incorporated into his cape and that kept much of his face from being exposed, which made him more difficult to identify. He was no fool, though, and must have sensed her approach based on how he started looking around. Helena inwardly sighed – her mom had always warned her she wasn't patient enough and this was further proof of that.

"Hello," she softly said as stalked forward. Robin tensed at her approach before giving her a slow nod. "Hope I'm not interrupting something," Helena said as she crouched alongside him and glanced down into the street. The thugs were pushing around a terrified-looking man and waving batons at his cowering family. Not a drug deal after all.

"Russian mafia shakedown," Robin replied. His voice was weird-sounding, which she took to be the result of a hidden modulator. He glanced toward the WayneTech building which was reflecting the Bat signal over the city. "And it looks like my back-up is going to be late," he said with a twist of one lip. Helena grinned at the implicit invitation.

"Fortunately, my dance card is clear," she replied. "Can I have Tiny there?" she asked, pointing toward the larger of the three thugs.

"Go for it," Robin said. He secured the small binoculars to his belt and then nodded at her. They dove off the building at the same time, throwing out their respective capes to very briefly slow their descents as well as cast the all-too familiar shadows. Helena hit Tiny with both feet as he was half-turning and the force of her impact threw him back into his open car door. She used his meaty body as a springboard, landed in a crouch, then spun with her leg scything out to take his feet from him. Tiny bounced his head off the unyielding metal of his car on his way down and was obviously seeing stars when he tried very hard to stand. With a _snick_, Helena drew her Asp baton, flicked it out so it would lock into the ready position, and smashed him over the head with just enough power to knock him out without doing permanent damage. He slumped forward, his entire body going limp, and she spun to face the other two.

Both were down already – one looked to have absorbed the full brunt of Robin's tumble and had slammed into the wall where he wisely passed out, but the other was one his knees, clearly unsure which hurt more, his groin or his broken nose. Robin loomed over him, a collapsible _bo _staff in one hand. Helena nodded her approval when she realized that kid was discreetly taking photos _and _securing wallets.

"Pass the word," Robin hissed, his modulator turning his words into something positively eerie, "we're watching." He sprayed something into the thug's face which caused the whimpering man to simply slump forward, unconscious.

"Thank you," the shopkeeper's wife said in heavily accented English. She was hovering over her battered husband. Helena gave her a smile.

"Пожалуйста," she said, causing both the woman _and _Robin to give her a sidelong look.

"Appreciate the assistance," Robin said once they were back on the rooftop. His grappler was of much higher quality than hers, but that wasn't a surprise given who his mentor was. Helena had high hopes that Karen … that _Kara _would be able to upgrade her tech in the near future though, now that her company was starting to really take off.

"Not a problem." Helena flashed him a smile that he returned after a second. "If you need my help again," she said, "you can contact me through Oracle." She discreetly checked the time by glancing toward the distant Clocktower – not quite midnight.

"I'll remember that," Robin said. "She can get in touch with me too." He aimed his grappler at a distant building. "Don't stay up too late, Huntress," he said with a smirk. "It's a school night."

/-\

Terror threatened to turn her bowels to water.

The Green Lanterns in hot pursuit of her were drawing closer and Carol knew that they had no intention of taking her alive. She did not know either of them – they were Enforcers for that scarred Guardian Hal once admitted to not really trusting – but their identities were frankly less important to her than their intent. She'd just gotten her life back on track, dammit!

With her ring warning her that power levels were reaching critical, Carol wrapped another thoughtform around her body and dove toward a distant planetary system. Her initial hopes had been for assistance – her ring told her that an event of great love had taken place here – but the instant she slowed from superluminal speeds, she felt her hopes sink. This was a dead world, shattered and broken, endlessly orbiting an ominous red giant that seemed to glare at the wreckage of this system like the baleful, angry eye of God. Carol wanted to scream.

A flash of emerald light in the far distance warned her that her pursuers were now in-system and she dove toward the largest piece of intact planet, hoping against hope that there would be enough debris to hid her from scans. She reached it mere seconds later, glanced around with her ring enhancing her senses, and then oriented toward a gaping hole in the planetary detritus. As she drew closer, her ring began issuing silent warnings about radiation levels and other dangers. She ignored them and, a moment later, those alerts ceased.

Something large and heavy tumbled into Carol, and she very nearly panicked before realizing it was simply an immense slab of refined metal. The fact it survived planetary destruction was amazing – could anything short of casting this … thing into a sun destroy it? – but the damage it absorbed had warped it beyond recognition. On instinct, Carol slid closer to the hunk of distorted alloys. She placed her hands atop its surface and began feeling for something, for anything that might identify it.

The two Lanterns swept slowly toward her, an implacable, unyielding force that possessed nothing resembling pity or remorse. They were zealots, devoted and obedient servants of a Guardian Carol now knew to be a corrupt monster in the service of some greater power. Barely a week earlier, she'd observed firsthand how this scarred Guardian met with some cloaked, hunch-backed figure. For her part, she'd once more been trying to find Hal. The messages that she'd received from him were crap – no one alive knew Jordan better than her and those missives sounded like he was reading off a script. She'd never intended on stumbling onto a galactic conspiracy…

_"Alert, Sapphire Ferris," _her ring silently informed her. _"Energy build-up in quadrant three by nineteen by seventy detected." _From the way the two Lanterns oriented on that quadrant, they had noted the energy spike and were investigating the far distant moon, still mostly intact but obviously battered by the destruction of the homeworld. Carol considered making a break for it then – the Lanterns were distracted, after all, and might not see her departure, but she suddenly realized she was not alone. There was a … presence somewhere around her, but she could not detect anything with her ring. Panic almost started to set in once again.

And the sky suddenly turned white.

She regained consciousness an eternity later, still surrounded by what honestly smelled like salt water and fire. Blinking the spots out of her vision, she automatically consulted her ring.

_"Power levels at thirty percent and rising, Sapphire Ferris,"_ the ring silently informed her. Carol blinked in surprise and lifted her hand to investigate – the ring was pulsing exactly like it did when she recharged it, which made absolutely no sense. She frowned and looked in the direction of the Lanterns.

The moon they had been investigating was gone.

She stared at the empty space, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Recognizing a query, the ring answered: the moon had exploded and, based on the admittedly limited scans the ring was capable of at low power, both Lanterns were instantly killed. The ring had no explanation for what might have caused the explosion and, for a second, Carol was convinced she heard a light trilling laugh.

"Right," she said aloud. "That isn't creepy at all." She reviewed her few options – the Sapphires were still too scattered to really pose a threat, but Hal's team on Earth … they might be able to help. She nodded, glancing around once more at the ruin of a planet. With her ring back over fifty percent – what the hell was charging it? And why did she have a sudden urge for pomegranates and apples? – she cast around with her senses, finally zeroing in on a distinctive diamond-shaped glyph stamped upon the slab of metal she was floating in front of. "Oh, God." She knew where she was.

Krypton. This was Krypton.

_Run home to Earth, Daughter,_ a disembodied voice whispered in her ear. Carol was already accelerating away from the dead system, the weird events she'd just experienced slipping away from her memory like smoke in a breeze. By the time she broke the light barrier, all she remembered was tricking the two corrupt Lanterns into investigating an active weapons platform. Their aggressiveness did the work for her.

She slowed to sublight once she entered the Sol system and, her mind set, she streaked toward the Justice League Watchtower. Her ring advised her that the stand-in Lantern was moving to intercept, alongside a woman who appeared to be Kryptonian. Carol came to a complete stop and waited for them to arrive. The Lantern was an offensive brute who would likely fit in better with the Reds and had none of the instinctive beauty she'd seen with Hal, but the woman in white and red flatly ignored the odious little troll and directed Carol toward the Watchtower.

"I need to speak with whoever is in charge," Carol said once they were aboard and had oxygen.

"She's a Star Sapphire," the Lantern announced. "You can't trust them."

"Princess Diana is this way," the woman said, shouldering past the Lantern. She was taller than him by at least several inches and, as she passed him, Carol heard her mutter, "Shazam." Whatever the word meant, it caused the Lantern to recoil, then glower.

The entire League appeared to be assembled, along with several faces Carol did not recognize, and all of them looked to be prepared for the worst. Wonder Woman wore a grim expression that looked odd on her face, but she gestured for Carol to approach.

"A War of Light has begun," Carol said without preamble. She glanced at the Lantern and frowned. "Greens, Reds and Yellows … they're all trying to destroy each other."

"That's the first I've heard of it, Lady," the Lantern began. He took a belligerent step forward, opening his mouth to no doubt accuse her of further deception, when the entire Watchtower trembled. Alarms began shrieking.

And an emerald portal exploded open right there, in the middle of this conference room.

Chaos erupted as the members of the League automatically sprang into defensive formations and positions, with the various fliers darting up into the air where they hovered. Only Wonder Woman did not move as she stared at the portal, though the tension in her body betrayed her readiness. A heartbeat later, sizzling streams of emerald light flashed outward, splashing against an invisible shield around the princess. At the same time, a small figure tumbled through the hole, slamming into the table and sliding a full foot or two before throwing up a tiny hand. Wind howled as the portal narrowed, then vanished entirely. The figure staggered to its feet and Carol's eyes widened.

It was a Guardian!

He was badly burned, with one of his arms ending in a smoking stump, but a tangible sense of power still radiated off him. With a frown, he looked around, his eyes narrowing at sight of Carol.

"Lantern," he called out. "Attend me."

"Ganthet?" The Lantern floated closer, then was abruptly jerked forward by unseen force. His ring flared brightly and some of the Guardian's injuries faded.

"This is Sector 2814, yes?" The Guardian held up its undamaged hand. "Of course it is. I am seeking the Justice League that Lanterns Jordan and Stewart are members of."

"And Lantern Gardner," the stand-in Lantern muttered, but Ganthet ignored him as Wonder Woman rose from her seat.

"We are the League," she said simply. "You appear to be in some distress," she added.

"We are _all _in distress," Ganthet said. "The Corps has shattered," he said flatly, the words causing both Carol and Gardner to inhale in surprise. "We are betrayed by one of our own and now the Corps … the Corps wages war against itself."

"The scarred Guardian? She's the one who betrayed you, right?" Carol interjected. Ganthet's head snapped around and he narrowed his eyes. "It's worse than you think," she said, raising her ring – more than half the League visibly tensed – and projecting the memory she'd nearly been killed over. It played out quickly, complete with audio, and the League heard this scarred Guardian accept assistance from the hunch-backed figure in black.

"Desaad." The Batman glided forward to stand alongside Wonder Woman. His eyes were locked on Ganthet. "You know who he is."

"He is a master torturer and manipulator," the Guardian declared ominously, "who serves a dark and terrible master."

"Darkseid." Again, the Batman spoke, though this was obviously an educated guess.

"There is more," Ganthet said. He did not look to be enthusiastic about admitting this. "We have strong evidence indicating that this Darkseid is responsible for Rimbor."

"Kal-El!" The Kryptonian woman surged forward, anger and fear warring on her face. She exchanged a look with Wonder Woman who nodded. When the Amazon spoke, all eyes were on her.

"Then the League shall go to war."

* * *

**A/N #2: **I guess the Merge chased some people off. :P

I fear I shall be making no friends as my next chapter will _not _involve this war (clearly influenced by the War of Light stuff that culminated in Blackest Night, but obviously not quite the same) ... and, in fact, I'm not sure if I'm actually going to show a lot of that war.

Re: the Lariat. As far as I know, it doesn't do this but I always thought that would be neat and she'd truly be an Icon of Truth ...

In my research for Circe, I discovered that DC has evidently confused (intentionally or not; I vote for the latter) her with Medea.

Regarding Kara's costume, do a web search for "Jeff Chapman Power Girl" and there you go.

Also, did you know that Carol Ferris was in "Man of Steel"? She's the captain (Air Force, I think, but I'm not sure) who thought Kal was "kind of hot."


	12. Year Twelve: Aftershocks

**Year Twelve: Aftershocks**

**Author's Note: **See bottom. My NaNoWriMo is going freaking awesome.

* * *

**Gotham City Declared 'No Man's Land'**

_Published January 3, 2024 / James Olsen_

WASHINGTON, D.C. – Three days after the earthquake that stunned the world, both houses of the United States Congress passed an emergency resolution condemning the terrorist strike that has claimed more than fifteen thousand lives. The attack, caused by extraterrestrial technology seized from STAR Labs, was initially believed to be a natural occurrence.

In a statement released to the public, the terrorist leader known only as 'Bane' warned the American government against attempting to reclaim Gotham on threat of detonating a high-yield thermonuclear weapon confirmed to exist. President Alexander's office refused to comment on the federal government's hesitation and anonymous sources hinted that the administration is reviewing all available options.

With the majority of Earth's most powerful superhuman champions off-world to defeat a threatened extraterrestrial invasion force and the rest struggling to contain an explosion of metahuman violence across the globe, this event has stranded hundreds of thousands of Gothamites in a city no longer capable of supporting them.

**Click for more from Daily Planet Online**

/-\

Of all the things he expected to see today, ninjas were pretty low on his list.

There were four of them, dressed entirely in the traditional costume one expected to see on a ninja which made them strikingly easy to see against the snowy backdrop of Gotham's streets as they pursued what looked like a young girl in a bright green kimono. Timothy Drake frowned as he watched them for a moment – it figured that this would happen now, just as he was about to head in for the night to get some much needed sleep. He shifted his position on the rooftop, calculated the best intercept point, and prepared himself.

"You cannot escape us, Cassandra!" one of the ninjas called out. Even as he shouted, the rest of his fellows produced guns of some sort and fired – Tim recognized LexCorp tasers at once and, as he sprang toward the edge of the roof, he noted that the girl dodged all but one of the weapons. Wreathed in sudden electricity, she made no sound as she collapsed to the chortles and laughs of the ninjas. Tim glowered and threw himself off the roof.

His cape stiffened under the mild charge generated by his gloves and he glided downward, tightening and relaxing various muscles to change his flight path in minute ways. At the last moment, he flexed his right hand, killing the charge coursing through his cape, and slammed into the rearmost ninja with both feet, feeling ribs buckle under the impact. Even as the ninja toppled with a shriek of agony, Tim was pushing off the man and diving away. He rolled and came up in a readied crouch. With a smooth, practiced motion, he reached for and drew his collapsible _bo _staff from where it was secured at his back, flicking it out so it locked into position. The ninja on his right lunged forward, but Tim thrust his staff into the man's stomach before twirling away and swinging at the one now at his back. With a loud _crack_, the staff bounced off the wannabe ninja's head, driving him into the snow.

Darting back, Tim promptly assumed a defensive ready position, the staff at the ready. The ninja he'd first landed on was trying to climb to his feet but was having extreme difficulty – broken ribs did that sort of thing to a person – while the two he'd hit were recovering. Tim glanced in the direction of the fourth ninja, the one that had charged forward after the girl, but found him already face-down in the snow.

There was no sign of the girl in the kimono.

"You've got exactly one chance to walk away from this," Tim said harshly. He stepped closer to the first ninja and delivered a perfect snap-kick to the man's face. The other two men slipped on the ice as they scrambled to their feet. With his left hand, Tim reached for one of the Batarangs secured to his belt. At the last instant, he changed his mind and pulled a gas pellet instead. He armed the tiny grenade with his thumb, and then flicked it at the left-hand ninja who foolishly caught the hurled projectile. Gas sprayed the man in the face – he dropped the grenade pellet but not quickly enough as, within a half step, he dropped to his knees. "Last warning," Tim said to the last of the upright ninjas. With a growl, the damned fool leaped forward.

Tim slid forward, catching the ninja's attack with the staff and redirecting it away. He kicked out, but the black-clad man danced back and away from the strike before lunging forward with a brutal punch. Tim twisted away, rolling away from the strike, before lashing out with his staff, aiming for the ninja's legs. Exactly as he expected, the man skipped up to avoid being tripped, which left him wide open to Tim's left-hand jab. It was little more than a glancing blow but knocked the man off balance long enough for a second staff thrust to stomach. The ninja folded with an explosive gasp and Tim struck again, this time with his knee.

His heart pounding like a runaway train, he surveyed the four fallen ninjas cautiously, but none of them appeared conscious enough to be a threat. Of the girl in the kimono, there was no sign which caused Tim to tense up slightly, especially when he toed over the fourth man and saw the blood wetting the mask. Whoever she was, she'd dropped a hostile so quickly that Tim never even heard it happen despite having just been tased and then managed to disappear faster than Bruce. He glanced at the mostly empty alleyways, then to the nearby rooftops, but found nothing. And the ninjas knew her by name. No, that wasn't worrisome at all.

He bound the four ninjas together, then secured them to a dumpster before using his grapple gun to return to the rooftop where he spent several long moments just trying to force his body to relax. There were times when being Robin was awesome – he got to wear a cool cape, work alongside the Batman, hell, he'd even met Wonder Woman once! – and then there were moments like this, when his body reminded him that he was only fourteen and help was a very long way off. Tim gulped air, concentrated on equalizing his breathing, and finally straightened, once more in command of himself. Satisfied that his hand wasn't going to shake any more than it usually did, he armed a beacon transmitter and tossed it into the snow next to the unconscious thugs before settling in to wait for the police meat wagon.

"Something up?" Oracle's voice crackled in his earpiece. Tim grimaced as he glanced upward. As usual, he couldn't find any of the ultralight drones she had orbiting Gotham, but he suspected she was looking at him through at least two cameras.

"Ninjas," he replied softly.

"Seriously?" Tim smirked at Barbara's incredulity.

"Seriously." He glanced around, once more trying to find the girl. "They were chasing a girl in a green kimono and I dropped in on them." He yawned.

"Meat wagon en route," Oracle said a moment later. "I've got eyes on if you want to go ahead and head in for the night."

"Roger that." Tim reset his grapple-gun and began the long, circuitous route to 'home.'

/-\

This had been his life for the last two weeks, ever since the massive earthquake came out of nowhere and toppled a half dozen buildings in downtown. All routes in and out of Gotham were cut off because of the quake, and then, thanks to that nut, Bane who was threatening to blow up the city if anyone tried to help, relief efforts were being turned away. His manifesto was a hodgepodge of anarchist, neo-socialist nonsense completely devoid of deeper thought, but a lot of the really poverty-stricken in Gotham ate it up which turned a relatively normal city into a nightmare. Tim still wasn't sure if there _was _a bomb or not – the government definitely thought so if their inaction was any indication – and he really didn't care; someone needed to patrol Gotham and protect those stuck inside from the mad dogs who seemed to have crawled out from under every rock in the city. Richard alternated his time as either Nightwing or in the Batsuit, covering for a still recovering Bruce who remained in Washington during his recuperation, trying desperately to convince the Congress and the president to act. There were a couple others in Gotham who helped out, of course – Catwoman had staked out the East End and treated that as _her _territory, Ms. Bertinelli was pretty focused on the Burnley district though, like Tim, she ranged far and wide when necessary, and Black Canary rotated among the districts, lending a hand where she was needed – but the bulk of the work fell squarely on the shoulders of the two active members of the Bat-clan.

And the pressure, the stress, the sheer unadulterated terror was becoming too much for Tim to handle.

/-\

_Crimson and yellow and green, the walls of light splashed against one another in the silent void, carving great furrows in the hulls of warring starships. Beings who had nothing in common with humanity screamed their rage and fear, lashing out with streams of living light. There would be no mercy. One side was too furious, the other too fearful. They unleashed their unspeakable power against one another, burning entire worlds._

_And into this maelstrom came the Justice League._

_Their numbers were not many – compared to the Lanterns, they were but a handful – yet their power was considerable. Among their ranks was an immortal Amazon, a woman who had once been two Kryptonians but was now a single entity, the universe's mightiest mortal, a living lightning bolt who could outrun light itself, a walking fusion reactor, the whole of the Star Sapphire Corps … and every Green Lantern who had not been seduced to the Black. They struck with fierceness and precision and power._

_But still, the war raged on._

/-\

Home was one of the five or six satellite caves that Bruce had seeded throughout the city years earlier, though Tim altered his path away from it the moment he realized he was being shadowed. At first, he thought it might be Richard playing one of his goofy games that Tim normally loved for the acceptance into the family it implied, or perhaps Ms. Bertinelli once again trying to follow him in order to uncover his identity since he cracked hers, but he quickly realized that wasn't the case at all. Richard was investigating an Arkham break-out – not the Joker, thank God, but Zsasz wasn't someone to just ignore – and Huntress was in her apartment, still recovering from a fight with that whackjob, Firefly. Canary also confirmed she was in the East End with Selina when Tim contacted her, and from the sounds he heard over the comm-line, the two women were probably beating the snot out of some gang members.

Actually identifying his tail was harder than he expected it to be. Tim doubled back through the Diamond District – he ambushed a pair of gang-members threatening to beat a man to death for his _shoes_ of all things – then cut through Chinatown where he paused long enough to stop a would-be rapist. From there, he darted straight into Old Gotham, using darkened buildings and powerless apartments to try and shake off his unseen shadow. He even passed the GCPD building, one of the only structures in the immediate vicinity that had power, but still, he sensed he was being followed. Finally, exhausted and frustrated, he retraced his path to the GCPD and ducked into one of the sealed off rooms that had a pair of cots and blankets. Commissioner Gordon had set this up the day after the bridges came down and Bane made his insane, rambling declaration, and Tim had already used it at least twice. He dropped down onto a cot, wrapped his cape around his body and, despite his efforts to remain awake, was asleep in seconds.

The sun was peeking over the horizon when he opened his eyes again, and he froze the instant he realized the girl in the green kimono was curled up on the other cot, several blankets pulled tightly around her. She was deeply asleep, but the gauntness of her cheekbones indicated she hadn't eaten much in a long time. From her features, Tim guessed she was no older than he was and, in this light, she looked a little like a young Lady Shiva. Just the thought of that woman made him shiver and he hoped to God he never ran into her again.

As soon as he stirred, the girl's eyes snapped open and Tim was surprised at the almost instant lucidity he saw there. Her entire body tensed and she rolled off the cot even before he was able to put one foot on the ground. The kimono was gone, he noticed, and she was dressed in something that looked strikingly like the ninja outfit of the four guys he'd seen chasing her. Crap. That probably meant she was one of them. He hoped this wasn't a mistake.

"Hi, there," he said simply. "Cassandra, right?" He climbed slowly off his cot, wincing slightly at the sharp pains stabbing through his torso. Even with all the nifty Kryptonian enhancements, the armor had never been intended to be slept in and Tim was certain he would have a bruise where his collapsible _bo _was secured at his back. Even worse was how filthy he felt – the Under Armour suit he wore under the Robin gear soaked up sweat wonderfully but it had never been intended to be worn for days at a time. He would kill for a hot shower right now. "I have some food in here," Tim added, half-turning to point at the box of MREs. There was a flicker of movement and he instantly snapped his head around, automatically assuming a defensive stance.

But the girl was gone.

Tim darted to the now open window and glanced outside, but she was nowhere to be seen. He glanced around the small room, checking all of the places he would have used to hide behind first, but she wasn't in any of those spots. One of the blankets that had been on her cot was missing, but apart from that, there was nothing to prove she'd even been here. Tim shook his head.

"So that's what that feels like." He chuckled softly as he retraced his steps to the case of MREs and, on instinct, grabbed a handful. Once they were secured, he exited the safe room (but intentionally left the window unlocked in case the mystery girl needed some place to crash again) and ascended to the roof. The MREs he hid on the other side of the roof access door – he wasn't sure if the girl was still watching, but if she was like he suspected, he hoped she got the hint and took the food.

/-\

He didn't see her again for almost two weeks, but Tim was almost certain she was following him at least most of the time.

At first, when he made private stops like his midnight visits to Gotham General, barely operating due to having virtually no power, where he could sit with his dad for an hour or so, he'd been afraid she would follow. Each time he slid into his dad's private room, though, all thoughts about the mystery girl fled and he stared at the silent form stretched out in his bed. They'd been forced to remove the ventilator when the power initially failed, but he'd started breathing on his own which was a big step forward. Now if only he would wake up…

As time crept by, though, Tim stopped caring that the mystery girl who may or may not be named Cassandra was shadowing him, especially as things grew even more chaotic than normal. January crept into February, and a late winter storm dumped another four or five inches of snow and ice on Gotham, which only seemed to intensify the aggression of the city's gangs. Even worse, though, was an airdrop of firearms and ammunition by an unregistered aircraft very probably in the employ of Bane. Richard, in his guise as the stand-in Bat, tried to prevent the delivery but found out about it too late and, within a day, the streets of Gotham were once more erupting in senseless gang warfare.

In the end, though, the mystery girl saved his life.

/-\

_Entire civilizations were wiped away as the War of Light turned into the Blackest Night. A new power rose, one wielding a terrible power drawn from a dark god long believed to be little more than a legend. Oblivion, he was called by some. Entropy by others. His true name was lost to time but the Black Lanterns who coursed through the void and, by their horrific acts, united the others who wielded rings of power knew him by another name._

_Darkseid._

_The Justice League alone of the galaxy did not cower, for Earth had escaped much of his sinister influence thanks to the actions of those that called themselves Olympians. And so, these brave, doomed, foolish humans led the great crusade against the Black Lantern Corps, convinced they could emerge victorious, no matter the terrible odds. They would not kneel before a tyrant or a monster who sought to undo the very fabric of reality so he could remake the universe in his image. They fought._

_And some of them died._

/-\

The gang-bangers had already pinned down a pair of police officers when Tim reached the site.

He landed on the building overlooking them and, the moment they paused to reload, hurled two grenades into their midst. One was smoke to conceal his approach, the other was a tiny CS gas pellet intended to incapacitate at least a couple of them before he reached them. Even as they exploded, Tim was diving off the building, his cape flaring out and automatically stiffening to slow his fall. He landed on one of the choking shooters with both feet and the impact threw the man forward and into the hood of their car. Tim rode the man to the ground, then sprang toward one of the other men.

Too late he realized the man was _not _choking from the CS.

The burst of gunfire caught Tim squarely in the chest. His armor held but still, the sheer force of the bullets staggered him – he fell back, slipping on the ice. Panic and terror fueling his muscles, he scrambled to find cover against the sudden hail of gunshots that tore into the car and the snow. Pain blossomed across his chest as he gulped air and his muscles felt like they had turned to water. With thick fingers that barely obeyed his commands, he fumbled at his utility belt, palming several tiny flashbangs and miniature gas pellets. Arming them quickly, he tossed them over the car with a hiss of pain as his chest muscles shrieked in protest. They detonated with sharp cracks but the onslaught of gunfire did not ease in the slightest.

"Come on, Little Bird!" one of the shooters exclaimed. "I was a goddamned Navy SEAL! I'm not afraid of a kid in tights and a cape!" Tim winced as he slid a boomerang free from his utility belt. It clicked into place and he flipped it in the direction of the shooters. With a shriek, the tiny transmitter secured in the weapon activated, sending out shockingly loud sonic pulses. He heard the surprised cries of the shooters and, despite the stabbing pain in his chest, Tim darted around the car and into the billowing clouds of smoke.

Fear gave him strength as he hit the cluster of hostiles. The first he encountered was bent over and choking on the smoke and gas, so he could not defend against Tim's knee strike, but taking him out slowed Tim down long enough for the other men to recover. Their ammo appeared to be depleted so the remaining four men backpedaled out of the smoke, fumbling for replacement magazines for their assault rifles. The two cops chose that moment to resume shooting themselves, which caused just enough additional confusion for Tim to step closer to one of the shooters. He thrust his quarterstaff at the man, but to his surprise, the gang member batted it away with expert skill. Dropping his empty firearm, the man grinned darkly and attacked, his hands a blur. Tim knocked aside several of the blows but quickly found himself on the defensive – his chest burned from the bullets from earlier and this man had both reach and strength on him. Worse, he had training … he was fast and good and … then Tim's staff went spinning away. He took a right cross upon the jaw that sent him reeling, then a pair of rapid punches to the midriff that tore the breath from him. The thug barked a laugh as he pressed his attack – he dodged Tim's attempt to trip him and then smashed Tim bodily into the car. Something cracked and blinding pain shot through his chest.

And then, into that moment, the mystery girl dropped out of the sky.

She hit the man kicking Tim's ass with a series of blinding strikes that stunned him, then flowed around his counter-attack in a move that Tim couldn't have possibly replicated. Twisting around the man's next punch, she did something with her feet causing him to stumble and then, with an almost casual swipe of her hands, she redirected his face squarely into the car door. The man slid to the ground, barely conscious, but the girl wasn't done yet. She sprang toward the other men, all unloading their weapons at the police officers with none of the military precision they'd shown earlier. Tim staggered to his feet as she danced from one man to the next, disabling them with wicked jabs and kicks. By the time he'd managed to steady himself, all four were down, either too injured to continue the fight or so thoroughly unconscious they wouldn't be waking any time soon.

"Thank you," Tim said through swelling lips. His vision swam as he let her help him into a nearby alley. The two cops were just now beginning to advance on the unmoving shooters and, as far as Tim could tell, they weren't aware of where he and the mystery girl hid. With shaking fingers, he pulled out his grapple gun fully intending on using it to make good his escape, but the girl easily took it away from him. She shook her head – he blinked and wondered when her twin had arrived – and tugged him deeper into the alley.

Tim wasn't sure how much time it took them to reach his satellite cave – they stayed on the snow-filled streets, but with her directing them, they managed to evade any hostiles – and in his current state of mind, he didn't think twice about the fact she knew where it was. He couldn't do the combination right and on his third failed attempt, he heard a gasp in his earpiece.

"Oh, God, Tim!" It was Oracle. He glanced up in the direction of where he knew the camera was. A moment later, the door clicked open. "Nightwing is on his way!" Oracle said quickly, but Tim barely heard her as he staggered into the cave, mostly supported by the girl he didn't actually know anything about. She directed him toward the nearest cot and he collapsed on it, almost screaming at the agonizing lance of fire stabbing through his chest.

Mercifully, he slipped into unconsciousness.

"Wake up, kiddo." The familiar voice dragged Tim out of the gray nothingness that he'd slipped into and, as he pried his eyes open, he instantly realized he felt a dozen times better. Richard was kneeling beside the cot, still wearing his distinctive Nightwing garb. A medical kit was resting on the floor next to him. "Hey there." Richard grinned as he dropped a hypodermic needle into a bio-waste bag and sealed it. "You should be feeling the kick here in a couple of minutes or so," he continued, "courtesy of WayneTech's super-juice."

"Super-juice?" Tim blinked – his thoughts were clearer now and the pain significantly lessened, but even still, he couldn't quite push the mental fog away.

"Yup." Richard brandished a bottle. "Some chemical cocktail Superman cooked up before he left Earth that really accelerates human healing." He grinned again. "The Bat lives on this stuff, man. You should be up and about in a day or so but expect to be starving." Richard glanced around. "So, Oracle said you had a girlfriend helping you into the cave," he said, "but I didn't see anyone."

"It's the girl I saw with the ninjas," Tim said. His eyes widened slightly when he saw Huntress lurking just inside the cave entrance. She was glancing around with vague interest, but otherwise looked perfectly at ease. The same could not be said about Richard – he kept glancing back at the woman who leaned against the wall with the same kind of casual grace Tim had seen Catwoman exhibit. Now that he thought about it, she kind of looked a little bit like Ms. Kyle too.

"Honestly," Richard said as he straightened, "if Oracle hadn't seen her, we'd all think she was a figment of your imagination." His smile fell away. "As field commander," he declared calmly, "I'm taking you off duty until you've recovered." Tim started to argue but Richard crossed his arms. "No arguments, _Robin_," he said, the subtle emphasis on Tim's costumed identity a reminder about the chain of command. "I'll check back in on you tomorrow." He patted Tim's shoulder. "Get some sleep, buddy."

As soon as they were gone, Tim slid his legs off the cot and stood up. His armor was already gone – a glance to the left confirmed that Richard must have pulled it off and secured it on the stand – so he shivered slightly at the coolness of the satellite cave. Limping slightly, he made his way to the entrance and opened it. Cold air washed in.

"I know you're out there," he called out. "There's another cot in here and it's a whole lot warmer than streets or an abandoned building." He stood there for a moment, shivering, and then backed away from the door. Stomach rumbling, he grimaced slightly and walked the short distance to the large crate of MRE's. Behind him, he heard the door click shut and he extracted one of the Army meals. "Are you hungry?" he asked as he glanced over his shoulder. The girl was standing there, her eyes darting as if she expected a trap. At his words, she stared at him before finally nodding. "Good," Tim said. "Because I'm freaking starving."

/-\

_The living lightning bolt was the first of the League to fall. He was acclaimed the fastest man alive and, on a dark and terrible day, as the Blackest Night raged over a nameless world, he outran entropy itself, destroying the Black Lanterns' central power battery through sheer force of will alone. Against its lethal, killing energy, he ran, faster than he'd ever ran, so fast that he became one with the very speed force that gave him his abilities, and in doing so, he split open reality around the battery. No one, not his friends or his allies in the League saw him pass, but he died fighting for what he believed in._

_And thus, he died without regret._

/-\

Over the next three weeks, as February turned into March, a strange pattern emerged.

At first, Tim did not really notice it – with the thawing of the unseasonably cold winter, the streets of Gotham were once more filled with people; some were certifiably crazy, others just scum, but most simply wanted to find food or a way out of the nightmare their city had become – but as the days passed, it became increasingly impossible to ignore. He would wake to find the girl – Cassandra, based on what the ninjas called her, but she never spoke to confirm the name – already conscious. They'd raid the rations box (which was beginning to get dangerously low) and, sometime between then and when he finished eating, she would vanish. He would patrol his section of Gotham, sometimes sensing her, sometimes not, but unless the situation got completely out of hand like it did twice – more of Bane's thugs who were too well-trained for him to tackle alone – Tim didn't see her until he returned to the satellite cave to sleep. Again, they would eat, then turn in to their respective cots. It was strangely comforting knowing that he wasn't alone.

On the sixteenth day, though, she changed the pattern.

Tim was half-heartedly going through his early morning katas when she scowled and shook her head. With sharp gestures, she pointed to his footing, and then assumed the proper stance. From her expression, she clearly expected him to follow suit. When Tim hesitated, she gave him another fierce look, one he'd seen before on both Bruce's and Lady Shiva's face when he did not immediately display absolute perfection. Grimacing, he set his feet in their correct places.

For the next hour, Cassandra walked him through the proper katas and, within minutes, he could feel certain muscles protesting which was further proof that he had not been doing them correctly for a while now. Once she was satisfied that he did have some idea what he was doing, she promptly jumped to the next level and they sparred. At half speed, of course, but it was still an eye-opening experience. Almost at once, as if he needed any more proof, Tim realized how much better she was than him – God, she was fast. He didn't think Bruce was this quick! Cassandra started slow but incrementally increased her pace until it was all he could do to keep from getting knocked on his ass.

"Enough!" he gasped an hour or so later. He was drenched in sweat and his entire body felt like one big bruise, while she seemed to barely be breathing hard. Cassandra nodded slightly and accepted the bottle of water he handed her but did not guzzle it like Tim did. He studied her as he drank. "Not that I don't appreciate getting the snot kicked out of me," he said, "but what brought this on?" She made no response as she simply looked back at him. "Can you even understand me?" Tim asked a moment later. The girl blinked before very slowly nodding. "So can you talk?" No response. Tim sighed, especially when she set down the water, retook her place in the small training area, and made a distinctive 'come here' gesture. "This is going to hurt," he muttered.

But he obeyed. And more importantly, he improved.

/-\

Against his better judgment, Tim began to trust the girl who alternately seemed both helpless and the most dangerous person he'd ever met.

He knew that this was a mistake on his part – he knew nothing about her up to and including why the ninjas had been chasing her in the first place – but the constant isolation and general loneliness made it impossible for him to turn her out. Richard was too busy trying to fill Bruce's shoes, Oracle was juggling a billion things at once, and it wasn't like he could call up any of his non-costumed friends to vent, not with Bane's control of the city slipping and more signs of an impending break-out. Cassandra was the perfect listener and at least feigned attentiveness when he spoke, though as a conversationalist, she frankly sucked. Her only talents seemed to lie in the direction of physical mayhem.

With so few options at his disposal, Tim began relying on her to act as his back-up when he went into hostile situations and, without bothering to inform the rest of the Bat-clan, he started equipping her with their standard gear. Much of it she seemed indifferent to – the gas pellets, for example, or the various high tech gadgets – but the grapple gun actually appeared to delight her and one of his spare capes gave her as much trouble as it had him when he first donned it. She wore nothing else that identified her as a Bat – the ninja mask she wore concealed her face and her clothes were a simple training gi – but her presence at Tim's side did not go unnoticed.

"We need to talk," Oracle told him the day after he and Cass had jointly shut down one of Bane's terror cells. "Bring your friend." Automatically, Tim looked up, trying to find the drone that was no doubt circling overhead. "Yes, I can see you." Her tone brooked no dissent. "Both of you, Clocktower. Now."

When they arrived, Tim honestly wasn't sure what he would find. He'd imagined everything from a furious Bruce Wayne, fully healed from his back injury, to a crapload of ninjas who had suborned Barbara. Instead, the only person present was Ms. Gordon herself. With her glasses and her hair done up in a bun (complete with what looked like a pencil in her hair), she looked every inch the librarian, but her scowl was dark and her voice could crack paint.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded. "Do you have any idea what B … what the Boss will do if he finds out you've been recruiting?"

"Fire me?" Tim shrugged. "Might be for the best," he added sourly. Barbara looked at him, pushing her glasses up with one finger in a reflexive action that Tim doubted she even realized she'd done. Ives did that too … and just the thought of his friend sent a pang of homesickness through him. He was so tired. His shoulders slumped.

"Go sit down," Barbara ordered, pointing toward a chair. She looked Cassandra up and down. "I've been watching you," she said calmly. "And you've been watching him." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder at Tim. "More than that," Barbara added, "you've been _protecting_ him." She leaned forward in her chair. "Why?"

"She can't talk," Tim said before quickly correcting himself. "Or she won't talk." Barbara gave him a sour look.

"Sit down," she repeated. She looked back to Cassandra and leaned back in her chair. "I looked into the four guys you and Robin put down," she told the mute, dark-haired girl. "Three of them have Interpol records." Tim's heart sank. "They were suspected of being members of the League of Shadows." Cassandra flinched and looked down, but otherwise, made no response. "So with that in mind," Barbara continued, "I did a little more digging. It was hard to find – most things about the League of Shadows are – but I found a couple references to someone matching your description."

"No kill." Cassandra's reply was so soft that Tim almost thought he'd imagined it but she looked up, met Barbara's eyes and repeated her previous comment. "No kill."

"Tim," Barbara said after a moment of silence. "I need you to leave us alone for a little while." He opened his mouth to reply, but Barbara held up one hand. "No arguments, please." There was a hint of steel in her voice as well as a smile – he had no idea how she did it. Tim considered refusing, but Barbara had always been nice to him. Even more than Alfred and Richard, she'd really been the first person to completely accept him into the Bat-clan, so he nodded.

/-\

_Casualties mounted and others fell as well. The nuclear man and the atomic captain died together, sacrificing themselves during the last great battle between the League and the Black Lanterns to absorb and convert the energy of a massive weapon that could eradicate entire solar systems. Countless lives were saved by this heroic action and the Black Lanterns, now unable to tap their central battery to recharge their rings and unable to threaten wholesale destruction, became even more desperate._

_The law enforcement officer from Thanagar was lost along with his entire team, also from his homeworld; his wife felt his passing even though she was not even in this reality but no others knew he had been slain until many days later. Unlike the others of the League who had fallen, his death was no great heroic sacrifice. He was simply one more casualty of this terrible conflict._

_No one knew what came of the one they called Atom. He simply disappeared and was believed lost._

_But the hardest loss, the one that caused the most consternation, came as a complete surprise. The timelost cousin of the League's leader, a girl barely twenty, died in glorious combat, taking with her a veritable army of foes. When the immortal Amazon found her cousin whom she loved like a sister surrounded by a carpet of enemies, her grief was terrible to behold._

_And still, the war raged on. _

/-\

His patrol was uneventful – he watched from the shadows as Detectives Bullock and Montoya met up with an Army Special Forces unit inserted into Gotham the night before, then observed Canary, Huntress, and Nightwing neutralize half a dozen of Bane's scouts who might be able to warn the terrorist that the U.S. government was finally getting involved; one got away, but Ms. Kyle pounced on him before he took three steps into the East End and beat the living crap out of him. A pair of would-be gang-bangers ran into a former professional boxer who took them apart without breaking a sweat when they tried to mug him, and then stripped them to their underwear before tying them together on a lamppost. Tim recognized the man – before the accident, his dad had loved boxing and was convinced that Ted Grant was the best boxer to have ever lived. Thoughts of Jack Drake drove Tim back to the hospital in a haze of guilt. It had been almost a week since he'd snuck in to sit with his father, and he'd been so busy in between patrols and sparring with Cass that he'd simply forgotten.

Nothing had changed – his dad continued to breathe on his own, brain activity was still being registered, but he just would not wake up. Tim sat there in the silence for an hour or so, ducking out only when the on-staff nurse checked in on his dad. He couldn't help but to be wildly thankful that the hospital continued to operate, even if he suspected it was only because Bruce was paying them ungodly amounts of money to stay. It was so damned weird how parts of Gotham continued to operate like nothing had changed, despite the fact that it was effectively under the control of a madman. Oh, there were certainly sections he wouldn't go into unless he had a tank, and there were rumors that Doctor Crane had set up a kangaroo court over on Arkham Island, but the neighborhoods Tim patrolled almost seemed normal.

Almost, but not quite.

He caught sight of Nightwing and Huntress again later that evening – they didn't see him and he hoped to God that Richard wasn't thinking with his little head again; Tim liked Ms. Bertinelli well enough, but anyone with eyes and functioning brain cells could tell that Barbara loved Richard – and once thought he saw Canary with an guy in green carrying a compound bow, but he steered clear of intercepting any of them as he continued his wide circuit. After two loops, he ended up at the GCPD yet again. Commissioner Gordon was on the roof, pointing out various buildings to one of the SF guys who was checking things on his computer, so Tim settled in to eavesdrop, his cape pulled tightly around his body and his hood pulled up. Nothing they discussed was anything he didn't already know but he had to admit, there was something really amusing about getting this close to one of the country's most highly trained soldiers without the man realizing it. After years of Bruce's stealth appearances, Gordon must have developed a sixth sense, though, and he started glancing around with that knowing frown of his.

"Since you're in the vicinity," Oracle whispered across Tim's earpiece, "let my dad know we just confirmed site alpha." The tiny computer embedded in his left gauntlet vibrated, indicated she'd just forwarded him a file. "When you're done," she continued, "come back to the Clocktower." Tim grunted very softly in acknowledgement and it was enough for the commissioner to hone in on him. He nodded as Tim advanced slowly, but the solder was caught completely by surprise and instantly went for his gun. Gordon's hand flashed out and caught the man's arm before he could clear his sidearm from its holster.

"Relax," Gordon snapped. "He's a friendly."

"He's a _kid_," the Army captain said in a surprised voice.

"Checking in, sir," Tim said, glad for the voice modulator built into his suit. It made him sound older and he experimented with various settings from time to time. "Site alpha is confirmed."

"We'll need eyes on ourselves," the captain said as he abandoned his attempt to draw his gun and, in response, Tim stepped closer and lifted his left arm. He flipped open the protective shield on the integrated computer and, with a casual swipe of a finger, shot the recording that Barbara had sent to him to the captain's Toughbook. Defeating the computer's security for someone with his skills was almost child's play, even if they weren't using WayneTech's Oracle OS. He glanced at the filename and recognized Barbara's naming sequence.

"That's the recommended entry point," he said softly. He almost smiled at the surprise on the soldier's face – Gordon was smirking as well and with a grunt, the commissioner peeked over the captain's shoulder to look at the screen. He crowded close enough to the soldier that neither of them were able to observe Tim's discreet exit, though Tim suspected the commissioner had done so intentionally. According to Barbara, he knew that Bruce was the Bat and the one time Tim had met him out of costume, Mr. Gordon had given him a knowing look.

"What the –?" the Army captain's voice followed Tim into the shadows.

"They do that," Gordon replied. "You get used to it."

Tim skirted around two more soldiers – their alertness was not an issue; he simply had the advantage of knowing the terrain intimately as well as being geared more for stealth than they were – and dove off the GCPD building at first opportunity. His cape flared out and stiffened, allowing him to glide to his next jump off point where he brought the grapple gun into play. Another ten minutes passed before he reached the Clocktower, mostly because he wanted to avoid too much notice and there were a surprising number of people out and about tonight. Perhaps they sensed the coming conflict as well. Gotham was the Bat's city and despite the (all too true) rumors that Bane had injured the Dark Knight in their last meeting, no one had any doubts that a reckoning was on the horizon.

Cassandra wasn't present when Tim entered Oracle's den and he drew up short the moment he caught sight of Barbara's expression. She looked … giddy. Yeah, that was the proper definition. Her eyes danced as Tim hesitantly approached.

"Okay, Cassandra," she called out. Grinning, Barbara watched a closed door and Tim's eyes turned in that direction. The door opened and Cassandra stepped out.

No. Not Cassandra. Batgirl.

It was obviously one of Barbara's suits, complete with the hardened cuirass and the pointy-eared cowl, but they'd done something to the mask so Cass' features were completely hidden. From the almost awkward way she moved, it seemed likely that the suit did not fit perfectly, but still, Batgirl glided across the room with lethal grace.

"Pretty awesome, isn't it?" Barbara asked. Tim blinked – he didn't know what to say. "We chatted … well, mostly _I _chatted; she didn't say much. It was like the strangest game of charades I've ever played." Barbara shook her head. "I did some more hacking and found a couple of things – evidently, there's a million dollar bounty on her head."

"Why?"

"No kill." Through the Batgirl suit's modulator, Cassandra's voice sounded feral and dangerous. Barbara nodded.

"She wouldn't kill a man," she said. "So Cassandra has been running ever since." Barbara's expression tightened slightly. "That also allowed me to confirm that Bane and company _are _League of Shadows." She nodded toward Cassandra. "She smuggled herself into Gotham alongside them, then tried to warn someone. Unfortunately, her speech disability…"

"No kill."

"…made it difficult for anyone to understand what she was trying to tell them." Barbara sighed. "And then, it was too late."

"Yeah." Tim shook his head to clear away the shock, once more surreptitiously glancing at Barbara. He knew for a fact she was dangerously protective of the Batgirl identity – a year or so ago, right after Tim had become Robin, a local girl had donned homemade tights and a cape, and then tried to become the new Batgirl (since the old one had vanished), but Barbara had enlisted Bruce and Richard to shut the girl down. Hard. Now, though, she beamed like a proud parent. He shrugged and then faced Cassandra. A grin crossed his face. "All right, _Batgirl_," he said brightly, nodding toward the wide training floor that hadn't been properly used in a long time. "Let's get you acclimated to the new gear."

/-\

_Without warning, without explanation, the Black Lanterns vanished._

_In the wake of their mysterious disappearance, they left a fractured universe and thousands of planets seared of life. The Green Lanterns, once the protectors of order, were a hollow shell of their former selves and even the Guardians had irrevocably split, with some under the leadership of Ganthet deciding to form a new Lantern Corps, this one devoted to Hope. The first of these Blue Lanterns appeared without warning and promptly devoted themselves to helping the universe to rebuild. Under Wonder Woman's leadership, the Justice League of Earth promptly joined with them to lend assistance._

_The Green Lanterns were faced with a long and arduous task – that of reconstructing themselves – and far too many of their former ring-bearers were dead or had cast off the green for yellow or, as was the case with Guy Gardner of Earth, the red of Rage. With so few willing or capable of wielding the green of Will, the Green Lantern Corps looked to be on the verge of extinction. Their best and brightest were dead or missing, and the Guardians who remained were unsure of their paths._

_And then, things got worse._

/-\

Barbara sat quietly behind her computer monitors and watched without expression as Batgirl and Robin dove off a building and landed in the midst of a group of heavily armed men. The two kids – and at their ages, what else _could_ they be called? – moved liked a single entity, with Cassandra expertly compensating for any of Tim's missteps. They kicked and punched and dodged and, in mere seconds, the seven would-be terrorists they'd tackled were unconscious. Naturally, Cassandra had dropped more than her partner, though Barbara couldn't help but to notice how well Tim moved. He'd been fairly competent before but in the two weeks since the new Batgirl hit Gotham, his skills had increased exponentially.

"You gave her a suit." Bruce's unexpected voice at her back caused Barbara to jump and she twisted around to stare in open shock at him. He was standing there, dressed in one of his newer combat suits. A pang of envy shot through her then – the last time she'd seen him, he'd been confined to a chair like her – but she pushed it aside and nodded. "I'm not sure that was a good idea."

Barbara frowned. Following his first encounter with Bane immediately prior to the earthquake that savaged Gotham, Bruce had retreated from the city to recover – according to Alfred, the modified suit with the Kryptonian fabrics was the only reason Bruce wasn't permanently paralyzed – and, in his absence, she'd been effectively running the Bat-clan. Certainly, Richard thought _he _was in charge, but that was only because she'd let him think he was calling the shots, and most of his plans and ideas tracked with hers. The moment Cassandra fell into Tim's life, Barbara had informed Bruce but, strangely, he'd offered no advice beyond following her instincts. So she'd tasked one of the thirteen drones at her disposal to keep an eye on the girl who appeared to have League of Shadows training. At first, Cassandra had simply shadowed Tim, observing as he patrolled the city and tried too damned hard to live up to the impossible standard he set for himself, but she gradually expanded her silent observations to Nightwing and then that Bertinelli woman. Cassandra even spent an entire day following Selina.

And then, she started following their examples.

Cassandra kept her contributions small – a would-be rapist here, a pair of murderers whose legs she broke and left for the police, and a wannabe pyromaniac – but each time she acted, she would quickly return to her shadowing of the latest Bat-person, as if to determine whether she was doing the right thing. It was the strangest thing.

"She didn't need encouragement, Bruce," Barbara said. "She needed guidance." He grunted – it was the only way he would acknowledge that a point had been made he could not refute – and Barbara wheeled around to face him. "Do you want to know the real reason I gave her the suit?" she asked. "Because of Tim." It was hard to tell how he reacted to that – his cowl concealed most of his face – but she thought he might have stiffened slightly. "He's been scared out of his mind, Bruce," she said. "He needed someone out there to watch his back."

"He's been Robin for two years," Bruce began but Barbara interrupted.

"And he had you there during most of that time," she pointed out. "When you were injured," she said, noting how he almost glared at that statement, "Richard kept an eye on him as much as he could but right now, Tim has hundreds of thousands of people's lives on his shoulders." She glared. "He's fourteen, Bruce. _Fourteen._" That sunk in a little if the way Bruce looked away was any indication.

"He's the same age Richard was when he became Robin."

"Yeah," Dick said from the dark shadow he lurked in. Barbara jumped again – she hadn't heard him come in! – and shot him a scowl. "Big difference is that I grew up staring danger in the face," Grayson continued. It was weird, seeing two Batmen at the same time and Richard removed his cowl. "We've kept our eye on this girl," he said, "and Babs is right. Tim needed someone to watch his back."

"Do you have any idea who she is?" Bruce demanded. From the set of his shoulders, he was being particularly uncompromising tonight and Barbara gave Dick a knowing look. That was a mistake, as Bruce noticed it and his scowl darkened. "Cassandra Cain," he said darkly. "Daughter of David Cain and, if I'm not mistaken, Sandra Wu-San. That girl is a trained assassin."

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Richard said laconically, "but aren't you as well?" The barb struck home and Barbara was treated to a sight she'd never seen before: Bruce Wayne, the Dark Knight himself, struck speechless.

"She wants to be better than that," Barbara said. "You've seen the data I pulled," she added. "You know how much extra danger her refusal to kill has put her in."

"Stop trying to _judge_ her," Richard added darkly, "and _teach _her instead." He stormed away, vanishing into the big closet where he kept his spare Nightwing suits. To Barbara's surprise, Bruce watched him slam the door and then, removed his cowl. He looked tired.

"You really believe this girl is worthy of your legacy?" he asked. Barbara winced. One of the reasons she hated visiting his Cave these days (in addition to the poor wheelchair access) was the glassed up uniform she'd worn, right next to Jason's – Bruce claimed it was there simply as a reminder, a warning of what this endless war could cost, but she thought it was just one more layer of guilt he could use to flog himself. Once, not long ago, Selina Kyle had complained that the primary reason her relationship with Bruce so often fell apart was that she didn't give him things to hate himself for and Barbara had to admit that she was probably right. After a moment, Barbara smiled.

"She's trying," she said. "You can't ask for more than that." Bruce exhaled, then shook his head.

"No," he murmured. "I guess you can't." He remained silent as she turned to other subjects, filling him in on the status of the planned strike against Bane's compound. They had finally located where it was and assets were being put into place. Bruce nodded when she described her dad's plan to augment the SF A-Teams with SWAT personnel. When Richard rejoined them, now wearing his Nightwing garb, she did not bother recapping since he knew all of this. "What assets do _we _have available?" Bruce finally asked.

"Canary has been mostly operating in the East End with Selina," Dick said, smirking at how Bruce almost unconsciously straightened. "Tim also confirmed that Green Arrow is in Gotham." He gave Bruce a questioning look.

"Dinah requested his presence," he said. His eyes shifted to Barbara.

"Huntress?"

"Available and standing by." She hesitated. "Plus Robin and Batgirl, of course." Almost immediately, Bruce frowned.

"We're going to need them," Dick said. "I've scouted this compound and there's no way only five of us can cover all the exits." He didn't even blink under Bruce's hard stare which made Barbara smile – she still remembered the little boy that almost had a heart attack each time his adopted father frowned in his direction. Finally, Bruce nodded.

"Assemble the team," he ordered as he pulled his cowl back on. "We strike at dusk."

/-\

_With no unifying force to fight against, the various Lantern Corps fell to open conflict once more. Oa was lost to the Reds, retaken by the Greens, and then seized by those who followed Sinestro. With the Justice League's aid, the homeworld of the Guardians was reclaimed once again and held against the combined might of those who would sweep the Green Lanterns from history. To everyone's great surprise, the Star Sapphire Corps, led by an Earthwoman named Carol, stood alongside the Greens and then, so did the Blues. _

_And into this moment of chaos, Hal Jordan of Earth, Green Lantern of Sector 2814, returned to the fight, wielding even greater power than ever before and bringing with him New Gods who helped bring order to the chaos. Finally, after months of brutal warfare, peace was established._

_But it was not over yet._

/-\

The recall alert caught them while they were waiting for the police meat wagon.

The terrorist squad they'd neutralized was thoroughly secured, stripped of all communications gear and weapons, and then handcuffed in such a way that should they attempt to free themselves, it would require some considerable contortions. Lurking on an overlooking rooftop, Tim had then very quickly split into three piles the intelligence taken from the battered and bruised men. There was the irrelevant stuff – packs of cigarettes mostly, though two of them had been carrying enough marijuana on their persons to be eligible for possession with intent to distribute if a cop arrested them – the likely irrelevant but potentially useful pile – wallets, cell phones, and watches – and the far smaller actionable intel group. With this particular group, there were only three things in the latter group that drew his attention: a city map with various places circled in red ink but with no indication what was there, and two small electronic devices he took as trackers. The two trackers he dropped into a lead capsule that he planned to leave on the roof for the time being. According to specs, the capsule should prevent any signals from being transmitted, but he had no plans to lead Bane to the Clocktower. After marking the location in the small computer embedded in his left gauntlet, he made a note to come back later with some specialized equipment to examine it further. The map he took a photograph of and promptly forwarded it to Oracle for analysis.

Throughout his entire sorting process, Cassandra watched in complete silence. It was a little weird being unable to see her eyes, though he'd long since grown accustomed to her not making a sound. He glanced up.

"Do you know what I'm doing?" he asked. She shook her head so, in a quiet voice, he explained the concept behind an evidence trail and how it might lead them to new information. He tried very hard to not sound condescending mostly because nothing annoyed him more than learning from someone who did that.

The moment he received Oracle's calm instruction for all personnel to make all available haste back to the Clocktower, Tim knew that the time had finally come. He took great effort _not _to hurry through his cataloguing of evidence – even worse than being late would be screwing something up – and, then, decided to wait until the police patrol actually did show up. Once he saw the meat wagon round the corner in reply to the small pulsing beacon, he gave Batgirl a nod and pulled his grapple gun off his belt, grinning at the eagerness with which she did the same.

They reached the Clocktower ten or fifteen minutes later and, as they entered through the number three access hatch, Tim realized they were the last ones in. He refused to wilt under the quick glances Huntress, Green Arrow, and Canary shot his way, though he very quickly realized it wasn't him they were looking at. It was Batgirl.

And then the bigger surprise: Bruce entered the room, dressed in what looked to be a new Batsuit.

"We have the green light," he said without preamble. "Special Forces and Gotham SWAT will be assaulting all four of the alternate locations simultaneously."

"Which means we've got the primary," Arrow guessed.

"The compound is here, just inside the Gotham Rail Yards," Bruce continued. "Bane is to be considered an alpha level threat." His eyes zeroed in on Tim. "Do not engage," he ordered. "I will handle Bane."

"_We _will handle him," Ms. Kyle interjected. Bruce grunted slightly, which made Arrow and Canary smirk, while Richard and Barbara shared a glance. Curiously, Huntress rolled her eyes and shook her head, but just as quickly schooled herself to stillness. Without further interruption, instructions were handed out – Tim wasn't remotely surprised that he and Cass were basically given reserve duties; they were to patrol the outlying regions, intercept stragglers, and otherwise play a support role – and the meeting broke apart.

In no time at all, Tim found himself crouching in the dark, staring down at an ominous-looking building with Cassandra at his side. For a change, she seemed almost jumpy – he couldn't see her face, but from her body language, he was almost certain that she was frowning – so he quietly touched her arm. When she glanced at him, he removed his hand before giving her a thumbs up and a grin.

In that moment, chaos erupted.

Copious amounts of gunfire exploded across the compound and their comm-line was suddenly filled with shouted warnings. An explosion in the distance briefly drew Tim's attention – it was one of the alternate sites, on the other side of the bay going up in the flames – but he quickly returned his eyes to his assigned area of influence. There were men running around, some armed, others not.

And then, he saw Bane.

The terrorist towered over the rest of his men and strode through the compound without any hint of hurry, but it was unmistakably him based on the ridiculous-looking contraption he wore on his face. They were too far away to make out his commands, but men scurried to obey. Tim tensed the moment he realized Bane's destination: a rail car. The bomb. It had to have the bomb in it. He glanced toward Batgirl.

Cassandra was gone.

He found her a moment later, cutting a swath through armed terrorists just inside their area of influence but there was no doubt she was trying to reach Bane himself. Tim acted without thinking.

"I have eyes on the primary," he said into his comm-line. "Will need backup immediately – he's going for the bomb."

A second later, he was airborne.

Urgent orders not to engage filled the comm-line, but he ignored them. His cape billowed softly behind him as he glided down toward the next jump-off point. He could see Cassandra had broken through the line of hostiles and was now facing down Bane – the terrorist said something to her, something that very obviously infuriated her as she danced forward, fists and feet blurring. Bane met each and every one of her attacks and countered them with brutal, ferocious strikes of his own. He relied more on strength and Tim guessed that that he only needed to connect with one punch to take her down.

_Focus on the mission_, he reminded himself as he landed lightly on top of the rail car, rolling to more evenly distribute his weight. He fast-walked toward the hatch in the roof and peeked in. There it was. His heart started pounding like a triphammer.

"Oracle," he whispered into his microphone, "do you have me on visual?"

"I do," she said tightly. Fury was in her voice, and terror, but she had it under control.

"I have eyes on the package," Tim murmured. "I could _really _use a signal jammer right about now."

"Delivering package," Green Arrow suddenly announced over the line. "Don't move, kid." Tim looked around – Cassandra was still engaged with Bane, though it was clear to Tim she was stalling; from the now hesitant way he was attacking her, it looked to be obvious to Bane as well – and almost jumped when an arrow streaked out of the darkness, embedding itself into the metal of the rail car. The cacophony of the armor-piercing impact was such that no could not hear it and Bane's head snapped around. He saw Tim and reached for something on his vest.

Bruce fell out of the sky and attacked the man at that very instant.

The arrow's shaft was wider than normal and, with a slight whir, unfolded. Tim almost laughed out loud when he a tiny signal jammer dropped free into his hand. He didn't recognize the model – it definitely wasn't WayneTech – but the principle was the same so he pulled the roof hatch open and dropped in, thumbing the activation button on his device even before he started to fall. The digital display on the bomb flashed abruptly … and then, kept flashing.

"No boom," Tim gasped. Very carefully, he secured the jammer to the control keypad of the bomb and then leaned back. "Package secure," he murmured into the comm-line.

And then, he threw up.

/-\

With Bane's fall, the rest of his terror cell collapsed relatively easily. There were a few diehard holdouts, but the rest of the team shut them down without taking any additional casualties and, by the time Commissioner Gordon stormed the compound with his police officers, everything was well in hand. Long before they arrived, Bruce was able to disarm the bomb – Tim watched with absolute fascination the entire time, making notes on his gauntlet computer for future research – and the entire team was out of sight when the cops smashed through the door in response to the jury-rigged Bat signal someone had set up.

Arrow and Canary were the first to head out – it was pretty apparent to Tim that they intended to do some private celebrating elsewhere – and Huntress managed to sneak away before anyone noticed. Ms. Kyle hung back a little longer, though she kept some distance between them and her so it almost appeared that they all just happened to be on the same rooftop without being together. Richard chatted briefly with her, then vanished as well, though whether he chasing after Ms. Bertinelli or going home to Barbara, Tim didn't know.

"You engaged against my instructions," Bruce said slowly. His gaze encompassed both Tim and Batgirl.

"If we hadn't," Tim replied, "he might have set off that nuke." Bruce grunted.

"Don't do it again," he ordered before looking squared at Cassandra. "_Either _of you." Tim looked at Batgirl and she looked at him. He shrugged and she returned the gesture (though he wasn't sure if she was imitating him or agreeing with him.)

"Sure thing," he said, earning another grunt. This one sounded almost approving, though.

"Get some rest," Bruce instructed. "Tomorrow, we begin rebuilding Gotham." He strode away from them and toward Ms. Kyle. Tim grinned.

"Let's go get something to eat," he told Cass as he pulled out his grapple gun. "You've _got _to meet Alfred."

/-\

_Hal Jordan brought more than just the New Gods. He brought word of Kal-El, the Superman feared lost forever. _

_"He isn't on Apokalips," Jordan said. "He's gone."_

_And with those words, he broke the heart of an immortal Amazon._

* * *

**A/N #2: **Tim remains my favorite Robin, regardless of what nonsense DC says about him never being Robin. And Cass is my favorite Batgirl. Sorry, but I prefer Babs in the chair because I thought it made her even more of a hero that, despite such a crippling injury, she did NOT give up (cough*thedarkknightrises*cough) but kept on making a difference.

Yes, I combined the FUBARed Gotham in the 'No Man's Land' story arc with the Gotham of "The Dark Knight Rises." I preferred their take on Bane even if the movie itself makes absolutely no sense and just falls apart if you start giving it any amount of serious thought.

Having the majority of the really powerful superhumans off-planet honestly seems like the only way a story arc like this could take place. Otherwise, why not send in the Flash to find the bomb, then let Kara or Billy streak in from orbit to snatch it & throw it into space before the bad guys even know what's happening? And why would the Justice League not overwhelm Gotham in the wake of this mess to help? Because they're in space, fighting evil Green and Red and Yellow and Black Lanterns, that's why.

Also, regarding the Black Lanterns, I know they were handled wildly different in canon, but having Darkseid be behind them just makes more sense to me. Rather than use any of the cosmic villains DC later introduced (Imperiax, for example, or the dude behind the Black Lanterns, Nekron), I decided to stick with the notion of Darkseid being the real focus of evil. And, as in New 52 (though can it be still called that after two years?), I dig the notion of "Many Universes, but one Darkseid."

I intentionally left the actual "war" vague because I wanted to seem really epic and the stuff of legend.

Barry Allen's death is intentionally meant to be reminiscent of how he died in Crisis on Infinite Earths.

And don't worry: I haven't forgotten about Clark!


	13. Year Thirteen: Imprisoned

**Year Thirteen: Imprisoned**

**Author's Note: **The first actual scene in this chapter (not the newspaper blurb) takes place during the previous year.

* * *

**Triumphant Return of Justice League**

_Published June 13, 2025 / Lois Lane_

WASHINGTON, D.C. – Before a crowd of nearly twenty thousand, President Alexander and assembled world leaders officially welcomed the Justice League back to Earth following their extended absence. According to League representatives, the conflict that threatened this planet has been resolved and future extraterrestrial invasions are unlikely to happen.

Attacks by rogue states remains a concern, however, and the League has opened negotiations with the United Nations to install a second space-based facility to increase the Watchtower's defensive capability. This new station is expected to be placed in Jupiter orbit.

According to , the leading monitor of the superhuman group, it appears that the interstellar conflict has claimed the lives of at least seven members of the League, including Flash, one of the team's founders. Memorial services for the lost heroes are being scheduled.

No word on Superman's whereabouts has been released.

**Click for more from Daily Planet Online**

/-\

All he knew was pain.

It was his constant companion, the only thing in his miserable existence that never changed. Hate surrounded him at all times and, in those rare moments when he was alone, he tried so very hard to remember who he had been before the darkness took him. A growing part of him just wanted to give up, to let the pain and misery finally overwhelm him – he harbored no illusions that the agony would stop, but if he allowed himself to embrace it, perhaps it would not be as bad. Perhaps he could even grow to long for it like so many of these other wretches.

"Hello, Kal-El." The voice was honey-smooth, pleasant enough to listen to, but dripping with malice and self-loathing. She only came here when knew his strength was ebbing, when he was seriously thinking of surrender. It aroused her, though he suspected scratching a carnal itch was not the real reason she came. She desired a child from him, a child she could raise in the dark to cry glory to her terrible master, and somehow, someway, he managed to avoid giving it to her. Perhaps their species were not truly compatible or perhaps – and this thought filled him with terror – she succeeded each time and he knew not. "Oh, my lovely fool," the woman crooned, tracing her fingers across his scars. "It was not a good day for you, was it?" Kal-El shivered – it had _not _been a good day. Desaad had been unamused at his continued intransigence, and turned especially creative in his tortures. Though it gave him no relief, Kal-El clung to his self-control in those moments: Desaad's failing and the resulting punishment the master torturer received were among the only things that kept Kal going.

Another sensation joined the woman's touch – it was her filthy whips that burned and froze and moved as if alive – and she almost laughed at how hard he tried avoid them. Her lips touched his.

And she took what she wanted.

Later, when she was done, she beat him with her vile lashes and left him hanging bloody over the bottomless Pit. She whispered what she considered blasphemies to him, about how he could throw down her dark master and claim his rightful place as her new lord if only he would accept the power being offered him. Kal-El – if that was his name; he'd forgotten so much since the endless cycle began – refused her each time, stoking her wrath and receiving yet more pain. He hoped it would end soon.

Hope. That was the feeble word he clung to. It meant something though he could not quite recall what. An end to suffering, perhaps? The dissolution of bonds and freedom to fly away from this wretched place? Or perhaps simply oblivion, where his pains were no longer experienced.

"You are a fool, Kryptonian," the woman hissed. "I offer you this universe, _all _universes, and you spit in my face. Rot and burn." She turned away in a fury like she always did, her whips coiling and twisting like angry serpents. Kal-El heard something then, and felt something … a warm wind and the smell of dates. It had come before, when he was alone, and his strength was renewed by the unseen visitor, but this time, something was different. A line of solid light appeared before him, as if someone were cutting a knife through reality itself. He had the vaguest impression of a man with a wide-brimmed hat and cloaked from mortal sight behind the tear, and then …

Sunlight. Pure, golden, absolute. Power and might coursed through him – his mind was still in tatters, but he had the strength to act. He strained against his shackles and they came apart with a squeal of protesting metal. The man was gone, if he'd ever truly been there, but the woman with the whips was turning, surprise and disbelief stamped on her face. She was lightning quick as she raised the computer on her arm that he knew to be his salvation up so she could command it while lashing out with one of her vile weapons. Yes, she was fast.

But in that moment, he was oh so much faster.

He blurred forward, heat boiling from his eyes to sever her arm at the elbow and cauterize the wound in the same instant. The pain he'd returned to her had not yet reached her brain when he flashed to within arm's reach, backhanding her with one hand while catching the smoking limb with the other. She struck a pillar of the blackest onyx, shattering it with her impact, but Kal-El had already put her from his mind. With two fingers, he tore the living computer from her severed limb and promptly stuck the device to his own arm.

Mother Box. That was what it was called. Its purpose was to serve its master and, though it recognized he was not the woman assigned to it, still, the device obeyed his plea. He felt a flood of empathy from the living computer – it too was abused by these monsters and upon sensing a like mind, it came alive with the same hope that burned through him. A hundred million calculations flickered through his mind in a picosecond, causing him to wince. Away. That was all he wanted. Away from this terrible place forever and there were so many different options…

_Here,_ a voice whispered from an eternity away. _Go here._ Mother Box pinged in obedience and accepted the coordinates.

With a titanic boom, a transdimensional portal exploded into existence and Kal-El threw himself forward without care or fear where it would take him. Anywhere but here. He glanced back once, in the moment before the tube collapsed, and he saw the one-armed woman staggering to her feet and staring at him with open horror.

He fell from the sky, suddenly heavy and awkward, and struck a tall column of rock with great force, disintegrating it upon impact. His lungs labored for oxygen as he slammed into the ground, throwing up an immense plume of dirt and shattered stone. Overhead, a strangely colored sun glared down at him, alternating between red and yellow in color. Kal-El rolled onto his back and stared at the sky, still struggling for air. Consciousness flickered and faded.

When it returned, he was elsewhere. A cool breeze washed over his body and, upon opening his eyes, he could see an artificial roof. He wanted to reach up and touch it but his strength abandoned him and he slumped back, exhausted. Movement drew his attention and he jolted in slight surprise at the sight of a young humanoid man, with dark hair and a long face he'd not yet grown into. At his movement, the boy – he could not be more than twenty and even with his fractured memories, Kal-El knew he had not seen that age in a very long time – hurried forward with an elaborate-looking container of something liquid. His words were so much gibberish to Kal-El, even if a word or two seemed strangely familiar, but his thirst overwhelmed his caution and he slurped down the glorious, cool liquid. It was not water … if anything, it tasted like wine, though he did not know exactly what wine was. When he'd drank his fill, he fell back and just breathed. There was no pain.

_There was no pain!_

Tears of joy leaked from his eyes. He wanted to laugh and dance and cry out his defiance to the heavens, but his body was so weak.

"Can you understand me?" The gibberish that fell from the man's lips suddenly became language and Kal-El jolted in surprise. He turned his eyes on the boy and wet his lips.

"How…?" he croaked out, pausing when he realized he was answering in the same language.

"Merciful Rao, it worked." The boy stared at the container with wide eyes and then set it reverently aside before turning his attention back to Kal-El. "You are recovering quickly," he said, "but the wastes were no place to be."

"Where … where am I?" Kal-El asked. He lifted his hands up and stared at them.

"I forget myself. You are on Daxam, of course, just outside the Broken Wastes on the Eastern continent," came the prompt reply. The boy smiled. "When the Lady told me I would find you there," he continued, "I thought her a fool, perhaps even sunblind." He shook his head. "But there you were, just as she said …" Kal-El frowned.

"Lady?" he repeated, suddenly afraid that he'd been pursued.

"She called herself Minerva," the young man said before frowning. "It is not a name I've heard before, but she claimed she was simply foreign, and she was kind to me." He shook his head again. "But no matter. You are here, her spirits cleared your mind, and we can attend to other matters as needed." The boy's good humor faded. "Your injuries … they were severe. Were you in the hands of the Black Lanterns?" Kal-El gave him a confused look. "They came here once," the young man said. "And they broke our world. One of our own, an exile if you can believe it, came back and changed the sun so it would burn yellow so we would have power to throw off the Lanterns." He looked away. "Most of us could not handle it – the noise, the strength, the speed. I fear we all went a little mad."

"I don't have a clue what you're talking about," Kal-El told him simply. None of it made any sense. _Changing _a sun so it would burn yellow? Who could even do that? And what were Black Lanterns? Was this boy simply insane?

"Then it is as I feared," the boy said. "The Lanterns damaged your mind." He cheered up suddenly. "But tomorrow, the sun will dawn yellow and you will regain your strength." He started to turn away but Kal-El reached out for him.

"Wait," he said softly. "Who are you?"

"Lar," the boy said with a grin. "Lar Gand. Now rest. The sun will dawn yellow tomorrow and you will need your strength."

/-\

Of all the buildings to have survived the great Quake, Selina Kyle hated Blackgate Prison the most.

Her heels clicked loudly upon the tiled floor, drawing all eyes as she followed the guard to the prisoner reception area. She hated this place, hated the oppressive feeling of the walls or the dark, subdued paint, or the coldly cynical expressions she saw on everyone's faces. Prisoners on work details leered at her or whistled or, in some rare instances, frowned in almost recognition, but it was the guards who creeped her out the most. They watched everyone suspiciously, waiting for any reason to impose their will on them.

She nodded her thanks to her escort as he pushed open the door to the reception area and strode past him. Once inside, she paused for a moment, removing her large sunglasses and letting her eyes flicker across the entire room, instinctively noting potential escape routes and weak points. The moment she realized what she was doing, Selina snapped her attention to the handcuffed man in orange sitting at the solitary table.

"Hello, Bruce," she said as she took the seat across from him. His face was expressionless but his eyes appeared to be precariously balanced between despair and rage. She secured her sunglasses to her blazer, activating the concealed signal jammer that was disguised as a button in a smooth motion that appeared intentionally innocuous.

"Selina." He glanced down as she took his hand, momentarily tensing before frowning in confusion when she did not slip him the lockpicks he'd discreetly asked for when she visited him yesterday.

"How are you doing?" she asked with a smile. Bruce's eyes darted – it was so strange, seeing him in full Bat-mode while not wearing the suit – and he forced himself to relax.

"The warden threatened to put me into solitary again," he said tightly. "For protection." His eyes danced with black humor.

"You don't need protection from these people," Selina said slowly. His lips quirked upward in a smile.

"Protection for them," he said. Selina sighed.

"Who did you fight with?" she asked softly.

"Tommy Mangles," Bruce replied. "He ran the Meatman Crew. Harvey put him away on eighty counts of murder one almost ten years ago." He frowned at her look. "I defended myself, Selina," he said tightly. "Mangles came at me with a knife so I put him down."

"This doesn't help your case, Bruce," she pointed out. "Until we find the person who framed you for Ms. Fairchild's death," Selina said in a flat voice, "you need to do a better job at maintaining a low profile." She made no attempt to conceal her disgust at being forced to name the dead reporter – it was bad enough knowing that Bruce had been romantically involved with her at all, even though Selina knew he'd been completely free to do so. Hadn't she been the one who told him to get lost the last time? She'd walked away from Bruce even before the Quake…

"I need to get out of here," he started again. She shook her head, glancing slightly at her watch before she spoke. A tiny green light pulsed on the face, informing her that the jammer was activate.

"No." Selina tightened her hold on his hand. "Richard is ensuring a certain friend of ours is seen enough in town so no one ties you to him." Bruce glowered. "The team, the _family, _is on this, Bruce. Do you trust them to have your back?"

"That isn't fair," Bruce growled. Selina smiled at him.

"When have _you _ever played fair?" He grunted in response, acknowledging her point, and her smile brightened. "Besides," she said calmly, "half of Gotham thinks I'm Catwoman. If you break out of here, I'm the first person they come after."

"Emotional blackmail?" Bruce's mouth twitched again. "I didn't know you had it in you."

They chatted about other things for a little while longer until the guards approached, informing them that his time was up. To her amusement, they frisked Bruce again before marching him out and the guard who escorted her out eyed her very cautiously the entire time. Selina hoped that she'd managed to talk at least a little sense into the man.

Alfred was waiting outside Blackgate and he opened the door of the Rolls as she approached, smirking in that way he did every time he managed to one up her. He knew perfectly well how much she hated the trappings of the very rich, so he made a point of becoming even more aristocratic and British when he could. Shooting him a half-hearted glare, she climbed in.

"Home, Madam?" he asked as he took the wheel.

"Sure." Selina watched Gotham for a while before finally sighing. "That man is impossible, Alfred," she said.

"Master Bruce does have certain inexplicable idiosyncrasies, Madam," Pennyworth replied. "What has he done now?"

"He wants to break out of Blackgate." Selina met Alfred's eyes in the mirror. "I think I may have talked him out of it for the moment, but you know how he is when he gets a stupid idea in his head."

"I do indeed." Alfred's tone was wry and affectionate, which made Selina smile.

"Change of plans," she said abruptly. "Let's go visit Barbara."

Selina was only partially surprised to discover that Babs wasn't alone, but finding Helena inside Oracle's lair was a lovely surprise. She still didn't know what it was about the woman who was _not _Helena Bertinelli that was so familiar, but Selina had long since given up trying to figure it out. Instead, she simply enjoyed having the younger woman around. Ever since Holly fell out of her life – a husband and new baby were evidently more important than the friends of her misspent youth – Selina had a dearth of female friends who weren't completely insane and Helena fit in nicely. They even had a lot of the same tastes! How the young woman had discovered Bruce's secret and inserted herself into the inner circle was still something of a mystery, though from some of his comments, Selina suspected Bruce knew something about Bertinelli that made him want to keep an eye on her. She knew a few things as well, having met the real Helena Bertinelli years before her death, but if Selina let a simple matter like lying about one's name interfere with friendships, she would have never made it through high school.

"Bruce is going to do something stupid," she opened with, and that very quickly segued into the actual investigation. Barbara made a few calls and, within thirty minutes, the entire Bat-clan was assembled in the Clocktower to discuss tactics. With the school year over and summer vacation in full swing, Tim was readily available, even though his father had recently woken up from his coma and was now going through rehab.

"You don't have plans with Ariana?" Helena asked when Tim volunteered to take on something he'd previously tried to shove off onto someone else. In these gatherings, she tended to fade into the background and remain silent, but if Robin was present, she watched him curiously. Selina had noted it and was certain that others had as well, but there was no weird sexual interest in her silent observations. For his part, Tim seemed to think she was still upset at him for piercing her secret identity and then, spending an entire year in her class without once revealing his. He was still quite proud of that.

"We broke up." Tim scowled briefly, then promptly redirected the conversation to the Wayne investigation. It took several minutes before Selina realized that Richard and Barbara weren't just humoring him in regards to the detective work, but were, in fact, letting him take the lead. At first, this horrified her – what the hell were they thinking, letting a fifteen year old boy handle something like this? District Attorney Beaudreau was obviously thinking about higher office and sending Bruce Wayne, the Prince of Gotham, to life in prison for murder would go a long way to selling her credentials as hard on crime – but as Tim spoke and pointed out lines of evidence and suggested courses of action, Selina realized something unexpected: he was _really _good at this.

"I have a friend in the M.E.'s office," Richard said in response to a question Tim had asked. "Pretty sure I can get a copy of the autopsy report."

"Or I could just hack their server," Barbara said coolly. So they were at odds again. That wasn't a surprise, not with how Richard was hanging around with Helena. Selina shook her head – what happened to the cute little boy she remembered? And wasn't he dating that alien in the Titans?

"Unnecessary," Tim said. "I broke in last night and already made a copy." Cassandra looked up from her primary reader and gave him a frown. "Okay," he said with a smirk. "Cass and I broke in, and I made a copy." The still mostly mute Batgirl nodded and went back to laboriously working her way through the book in her lap. It still caused Selina to wince every time she realized how much difficulty the young girl had with speech and reading, but she was amazed at how hard Cassandra drove herself. "There was some bruising on the victim's neck that was unaccounted for," Tim continued with a slow frown.

"A nerve strike, maybe?" Richard leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "That doesn't exonerate Bruce, though. I've seen him use a nerve strike before to incapacitate mooks."

"No, but it does narrow our list of suspects." Tim chewed at his lip. "I mean, who do we know that can do that sort of thing?" A hand went up. "Besides Cass, of course."

"I've tried," Richard admitted, "but I never got the hang of it."

"Me either," Tim said glancing toward Barbara and Helena, both of whom shook their heads.

"I'd just have used my whip," Selina remarked. "Thank you, Alfred," she added as the butler discreetly refilled her coffee cup and then tried to make a stealthy exit.

"We're missing something," Tim added darkly. His phone buzzed and he glanced at it, frowning slightly before standing. "My dad has PT and wants me to go with him," he said. "I'll check back in with you later," he added, directing his comments to Richard.

"It's a little eerie how good he is at this detective stuff, isn't it?" Richard said several moments after the front door clicked shut. "I'm good and know it but Tim is like …"

"Bruce." Richard nodded in Selina's direction, then grinned.

"Well, he _did _figure out the secret identities of at least three people in this room." Helena scowled at him but then laughed out loud when Barbara hit him with a pillow.

"He's not wrong, though," Selina said. "We're missing something."

Cassandra followed her and Alfred out of the Clocktower sometime later and crawled into the back seat of the Rolls where she almost instantly fell asleep. This made Selina smile and, even better, gave her a legitimate excuse to sit up front with Alfred. As he approached Wayne Manor, she turned to him.

"How exactly did this happen?" she wondered with a smile. "I don't even recall Bruce asking me to move in."

"His is a devious mind," Alfred replied. Her phone buzzed before she could reply and she glanced at the ID: Timothy Drake.

"The nerve strike," he said by way of greeting. "That's what we were missing." Selina frowned into the phone.

"I'm sorry?"

"Can you have Cass meet me at Blackgate tonight?" Tim continued in a rush. "I need to talk to Bruce without anyone knowing it."

"You have a suspect?" Selina felt her hopes climbing.

"I have a theory," Tim corrected her. "Got to go." He disconnected without any further comment and Selina gave her phone a sour look. Evidently, young Mister Drake had learned more things from Bruce than just detective work. She felt Alfred's eyes.

"Tim's on to something," she said. "Cass, he needs you at Blackgate tonight."

"Hokay," the silent girl said. She sat up.

Unfortunately, it was the exact moment that the paparazzi decided to ambush Bruce Wayne's car with their cameras.

/-\

He felt so much better.

Months had passed since Kal-El made his escape from that dark and terrible world, and with each day that passed, the fear that he would be recaptured fell away. Mother Box was always searching for signs of pursuit, as fearful as he was of being forced to return to that horrible place, and that assuaged a lot of his concerns.

The red pants and trousers that Lar had provided him was identical to the one Gand also wore – it was the uniform of the now mostly defunct Explorer's Guild – and fit well enough. Kal-El was especially fond of the high boots and was surprised at how easily he adapted to the cape. It was all so familiar yet his memory remained fractured: he could remember faces sometimes, or names, but the pieces just refused to fit together.

Overhead, the sun had entered the evening phase, where it shifted slowly towards red once more. From what Lar had told him, the Daxam star was once a red giant, but an exile from their world named Sodam Yat who had become a mighty Green Lantern did something to it, causing it to fluctuate from a bright yellow to the angry crimson it had been before. During the yellow phase, most of the locals hid themselves away, unable to adapt to the uncanny abilities and enhanced senses they suddenly found at their fingertips.

"Are you ready, Kal?" Lar called out. He stood straight and ready, looking up into the sky with a longing smile. Kal smirked at his eagerness – they had been out here, in the wilds, for nearly two weeks now, searching for other survivors of the Black Lanterns' assault so long ago, and Lar was terribly eager to get back to civilization. There was a black-haired young girl there he wanted to woo named Diana …

No. That wasn't right. Lar's friend's name was Dena. Who was Diana? Kal shook his head.

"As ready as I can be," he replied. He followed Lar to their small airship and climbed in. Like so much else on this planet, it was strangely familiar, as if he had seen it's like before, but Kal ignored the strange sensation. "There will be more questions," he said calmly to his friend.

"And we will answer as we always have." Lar smiled. "You are Kel Gand, my brother. You were the reason I wanted to join the Explorer Guild." Kal forced a smile – he owed Lar so much and it was not that great a stretch to almost let himself think their cover story might be true. He and Lar looked just enough alike that they _could _be brothers and there was no denying that his body reacted to the yellow sunlight just like a Daxamite. Something in him refused to accept it though, knew it wasn't the truth. Every night, he was haunted by dreams of people he did not know or faces that were so achingly familiar that it pained him. The dark-haired beauty with the fierce countenance and ready smile. The grim man, also with dark hair, and a tiny hint of madness lurking in his eyes. The blonde girl who looked ill at ease. So many people, yet he couldn't put a single name to a face. He didn't know any of them … even as he thought he might.

He wanted to scream.

"I sought out Lady Minerva when I was last in the city," Lar said as their destination came into view. His smile was gone and in its place was a look of concern. "No one knew who I was speaking of. It is as if she never existed."

"Maybe she didn't." Lar gave Kal a frown.

"Then explain the disappearing wine container," he said. Abruptly, he frowned. "What is that?" he asked, nodding toward a strange shape descending from the sky over the small city that was their destination. Kal focused and inhaled sharply.

"It's a ship," he said.

And a moment later, the sky erupted in fire.

Shockwaves from immense explosions slammed into their tiny vessel and threw it hard against the unyielding rock, but Kal reacted entirely on reflex. With one hand, he struck the canopy release button while he reached out and seized Lar with the other. Concentrating, he _pushed _and they rocketed up and out of the tumbling airship. This was not entirely a surprise – Lar himself had made some fairly prodigious leaps in the past – but Kal's sudden halt in the sky caused them both to glance around with momentary surprise. There was no time to give it greater consideration, not with the sun already transitioning to the red phase of its strange cycle and the attacking vessel still a threat.

"Throw me!" Lar shouted as he pointed toward the ship. Kal considered for a moment, then obeyed, hurling his friend at the hostile vessel with all his might. He pursued a moment later, streaking up and around the vessel's defensive fire. Exactly as he hoped, his strange ability to maneuver through the sky attracted notice and he spent long seconds twisting around scarlet streams of fire. Lar struck the vessel at immense speed and punched through its hull with a boom that echoed across the horizon. Kal laughed out loud before abruptly altering his flight path and accelerating back toward the starship. Heat boiled out of his eyes and he smashed through what he guessed to be the hull. Splinters of jagged metal went spinning through the air as he landed.

"Kryptonian!" one of the occupants screamed. He was tall, with pale yellow skin, over-sized teeth and a curious red circle tattooed upon his tall forehead. From his placement on the bridge, he was likely the commander or at least a leader of some sort. Kal blurred toward him and snatched a double handful of green robe.

"Land now and surrender," he ordered, his eyes burning and making it difficult to see. "Now!" he roared.

"Obey him!" the leader shrieked and the two other yellow-skinned aliens sprang into action. The ship banked hard, then landed onto the ground just outside the city with a jarring thud.

Lar joined him long minutes later, his explorer guild uniform as ragged and torn as Kal's. He was dragging another pair of the aliens, though they were thoroughly unconscious. With a casual gesture, he tossed the two into a senseless heap on the ground. The smile he flashed at Kal was a bright one.

"You'll have to teach me that flying trick," he said. "I scanned the rest of the ship – I don't think there are any more of them aboard."

"Forgive us, Great One," the leader said in a simpering tone. "We knew not that the Kryptonians claimed this world as their own!"

"This world isn't mine," Kal said slowly, hesitantly. Kryptonian? "But you will face their justice."

The justice of the Daxamites was harsh indeed. Once Kal and Lar turned over the five aliens to the local authorities, a trial was hastily convened. Very little could be gleaned from the aliens – their species appeared to have no name for themselves nor did they call their planet anything but Homeworld; even more frustrating, their culture had somehow evolved without a need for personal names. They were rigidly hierarchal, with the higher castes simply calling those below them Lesser. What little they did learn was not good: the ruling caste of this culture was intending on using the chaos of the recent wars to expand their territory and carve out a new empire. Satisfied that these creatures were guilty of multiple counts of murder for over a thousand had died during the bombardment before he and Lar stopped them, the Daxamite tribunal ordered execution. Sentence was carried out immediately.

And through it all, Kal-El struggled to keep his mouth shut. This was their way, their culture, their laws. What right did he have to interfere?

"And what of you, Kel Gand?" the Tribunal Master asked even before the echo of gunfire had fully faded. "That creature accused you of not being of this world, of being a Kryptonian." All eyes turned on him and Kal-El tensed. "Is this true?" Kal opened his mouth to lie, to fall back on the cover story that he and Lar had concocted.

But the truth fell from his lips.

"I do not know," he said simply. "I have no memory of who I am or where I'm from." He glanced toward Lar, fully intending on claiming that he had deceived the young man and pretended to be his brother, but Gand beat him to the punch.

"It was my idea that he claim to be my brother," Lar said quickly. "Knowing the atmosphere of fear and paranoia as I do." He held his head high. "And even though it is untrue," Lar announced in a ringing voice, "I would be honored to call this man 'Brother.'"

"There is no place for you here," the Tribunal Master intoned after consulting briefly with his fellows. "Either of you. Henceforth, you are to be considered Exiled and Nameless."

"What of the alien ship?" Kal asked before the tribunal could be officially ended. "It has no place here either." The Tribunal Master hesitated, then nodded.

"In gratitude for the service you did for us this day," he said, "we declare the vessel yours to do with as you will."

"Now what?" Lar asked as they were urged out of the tribunal hall. The guards gave them solemn nods – there was no anger or fear in them, only appreciation from one warrior to another – and Kal glanced at his friend.

"You didn't need to speak up like you did," he said. "You could have stayed here."

"No." Lar looked up to the sky. "My place is out there, I think. I've never fit in here."

"Then let's go to the stars, Brother," Kal said with a smile. "Let's see what's out there waiting for us."

/-\

A cool breeze blew across the grass of Themyscira, carrying with it the smell of the ocean, and Diana breathed it in.

This had been a difficult day. Laying Donna to rest in the proper manner, listening to her mother praise the timelost girl for her lack of flaws (which was a blatant lie), and then speaking herself, telling her sisters how Donna fell. She did not exaggerate the numbers of slain around Donna's body, or hide how the young girl had been acting on her orders to hold a strategic choke point that, ultimately, proved to be unnecessary. When she was done, the other Amazons nodded and let her pass from the burial grounds.

And here she was, sitting on a warm rock, staring at the marvelous ocean and not caring a whit about the beauty before her.

"Your words were powerful," her mother said as she drew closer. Hippolyta stared down at her, a grave expression on her face. "No one blames you, Diana. In war, soldiers die."

"They don't need to blame me," Diana replied crossly. "I can do that myself." She glared at the sun. "I ordered her to take that spaceport and defend the civilians knowing she did not have enough warriors to hold it." Anger coursed through her and she struggled to keep it contained.

"Was it necessary?" Diana started to reply, but Hippolyta spoke on. "Not in retrospect. At the time. Was taking that site and holding it necessary at the time?"

"Yes." Diana hung her head. "It was our only line of retreat had the battle turned poorly for us." She closed her eyes. "And there were children and other noncombatants there."

"If you were faced with the same situation again," her mother asked as she inched closer, "would you make the same decision?" Diana was silent for a long moment. She stared quietly at the sea, turning over the scenario in her mind.

"Yes," she murmured. "Yes, I would."

"Then you are blameless." Hippolyta took a seat next to her. "War is never an easy thing," she said. "When we bury our friends and family and loved ones, we must always ask if the price was too great. Donna believed in this great cause of yours, believed in the necessity of this war." She reached to tilt Diana's head up so their eyes could meet. "But more importantly," her mother said, "she believed in you."

The tears came slowly and Diana let them fall, even though she knew she would never be able to forgive herself. There had to have been a different way, a better way, to hold that planet and push those vile Lanterns off it. Why was the path to peace so thoroughly paved with blood?

Her mother left shortly before the sun completely vanished, but Diana did not stir from her silent vigil. She sensed others watching over her – Artemis was there, of course, but Phillipus also and Euboea and several others she could not immediately identify – but they did not interrupt her musings so she gave them no thought. Over and over, her mind toyed with the battle that had claimed Donna's death, and without fail, she could see no way to do anything differently.

"Your cousin is at peace." The speaker was not someone she immediately recognized and Diana reacted without thinking, throwing herself back and into the air where she instantly summoned her battle harness. On reflex, she'd snatched the Lariat free from where it hung at her side, but the moment her eyes fell on the woman standing there, Diana released it and dropped to one knee.

"Lady Hera," she greeted, biting back her instinctive demand for information. In all these years, why had the gods not answered her pleas before? When Kal was taken from her … from them, the Olympians had been silent. When she begged for direction or inspiration in those moments she felt so terribly low, they said nothing. And now, because she grieved for a lost sister, they finally deigned to answer.

"I visited her in Elysium," the mother of the gods said before frowning at Diana. "Stand up, girl. You are no worm to crawl upon your belly." Diana stood, noting instantly that none of the other Amazons appeared to take notice of her action. The ground underfoot felt wrong as well, like she was standing upon a cloud of air. Her body lacked the weight it normally would.

"This is a dream," she said. Hera smiled.

"You see through my illusions," the goddess remarked. "Good. Now tell me the sky is green." Something caressed Diana's mind, forced her to speak, and she could no more stop the words tumbling from her lips than she could rip a star from the heavens.

"The sky is _not _green," she said. "It is blue." To her surprise, Hera's smile widened.

"Most excellent, Child," she said. "I am well pleased with your progress, no matter the circumstances of your birth." Diana blinked – what did _that _mean? – but Hera continued. "You must learn to master the Lariat, Child, not be its slave." The goddess' smile dropped away as she held out a hand. With a shimmering flicker, a pair of bracers appeared in her palm. "Despoina wished you to have these," Hera said and, in that moment, Diana recognized them as Donna's. But they had been burned with her body and melted to slag. How…? "Hephaestus assures me that you may use them as you use those already in your possession."

"Thank you, Mistress," Diana said. She reached for the bracers and felt something cold crawl up her arm. An instant later, Donna's bracers had merged with her own, extending in length and somehow, incorporating all of the different glyphs and tiny carvings. The strange gold of Donna's bracers had melded with the silver of Diana's to form something new entirely and she stared at them with surprise. At the same time, a warm feeling of approval filled her soul and a tangible sense of Donna hovered at the very periphery of her senses. Had she turned her head, Diana would not have been surprised to see her cousin standing there, grinning at some terrible mischief she'd just accomplished.

"I daresay Hephaestus did not expect that," Hera said with a soft smile.

"Princess!" Artemis' voice broke the moment and, with an unexpected jerk, Diana fell back into her body. She sensed Hera fade away and, upon opening her eyes, she found the whole of the tribe arrayed around her. Glancing down, Diana realized she was floating several yards from the edge of the cliff. Light flickered from her bracers and, as she raised them up to examine them, she once again sensed Donna's presence. Here, in the real world, they had changed as in the dream.

"I am well," she announced as she slowly drifted back to the ground. "It would seem," she said with a smile, "that Donna tasked Lady Hera with messenger duties." Laughter answered the statement – her cousin had been rather imperious at times and already, the remembrances and jokes were resuming. Artemis stepped forward and reached forward to brush aside the tears crawling down Diana's face.

"She would not want you to grieve thus," the flame-haired woman said. Diana nodded and accepted her affection without thinking. In their own ways, they had both loved that silly brat. Before the grand celebration of Donna's life could resume, a distant horn sounded. It rolled up and around the island, but was a familiar sound.

Atlantis had sent an envoy.

"I shall go and meet them, Mother," Diana said. Hippolyta nodded slightly and Diana tensed to throw herself upward, but Artemis held onto her hand.

"Not alone, Princess," the Bana-Mighdall warrior said. Diana grinned.

"I hope you have a head for heights," she replied before seizing her friend's hand and carrying them both up. Artemis' grip was tight, possibly tighter than it normally would have been, but in that moment, Diana did not mind.

They touched down on the beach where they found a waiting undersea craft, surfaced but tethered to the small dock. A party waited on the deck of the vessel, encased in ceremonial armor. Each bore a black standard secured to their backs by way of short poles. Diana recognized the leader.

"You are well met, Kaldur'ahm," she said in fluent Atlantean, "but this is a poor time to come."

"I do so out of duty to my king and loyalty to my lost friend, Despoina," Kaldur replied in equally flawless Themysciran. "Though we are barred from setting foot upon your soil by law," he continued, "we would greatly wish to lend our voices to Donna's dirge." Diana took note of his solemn expression and the obvious grief in his face, and then glanced at the Atlantean craft. It was substantial in size, with a wide, flat surface that could hold all of the crew. A thought occurred to her.

"Artemis," she said calmly. "Run to my mother and ask her to relocate our celebration of Donna's life to the beach." She smiled to Kaldur. "Honored guests have come to pay their respects and it would be a poor thing to refuse them." Artemis turned and raced away. Normally, Diana would have watched go – she had always enjoyed watching Artemis fly over the ground – but today, she kept her eyes on Kaldur. "There will be dancing and feasting," she said. "As you say, the law cannot allow you or any of your men to set foot on Themyscira…" Kaldur was, she realized, the only male present. His entire crew appeared to be made up of women. He nodded to her the instant he saw she recognized his tactful action and her heart went out to him once more. It would be a lonely vigil for him, standing there on the deck of his ship while his crew were free to mingle. She made a mental note to spend time here with him and would encourage the more open-minded of her tribe to include him as much as possible.

"Captain," he said, shifting his head only slightly, "assemble the crew to render honors."

"Thank you," Diana said.

"The queen attends," Artemis announced when she reappeared a little bit later. More Amazons followed – soldiers mostly at first, though there were more than enough potters and farmers to make it clear that this was no attack force – and then, Hippolyta herself, flanked by Phillipus as always. At a whispered command from the ship's captain, the Atlanteans rendered their salute.

"We come in peace to honor a valued warrior," the captain declared before going to one knee and offering her ceremonial weapon, hilt first. Her entire crew did the same – Kaldur too, from where he stood on the deck of the ship – and they waited in silence.

"You are well met this day," Hippolyta declared, "and I greet you … _all _of you as allies." Diana's eyebrows climbed at the singling out of Kaldur, but she held her tongue. "Sheathe your blades and join us as we celebrate a most worthy life taken too early."

"So that is the one Donna was mooning over," Artemis murmured a short time later as they reclined on the beach, eating and sipping wine. She was eying Kaldur as he stood on the deck of the Atlantean ship, arms locked at his back and his spine erect. Even with the coral armor, he could have been a statue carved from obsidian, but Diana was pleased to see at least a few of her sisters had approached and engaged him in conversation. She recalled him as an unfailingly polite young man utterly conscious of how his actions reflected upon Atlantis. Donna had regaled her with many stories about how wonderful the young Atlantean was, and how unfortunate it was that he could never be Arthur's heir. Grief once more threatened to push her down and Diana scrambled to her feet.

"Dance with me," she ordered. It came out more as a plea but Artemis smiled and nodded.

And for a little while, Diana was able to forget how heavy her heart was.

/-\

Prison camp Alba loomed large before them.

Kal-El glanced toward Lar – his Daxamite friend flashed a tight smile in response – and together, they streaked ahead, accelerating well past the speed of sound and leaving the rebel gunships behind. As the better flier of the two, Kal took point and let the heat bubbling out of his eyes rake across the defensive perimeter of the Dominator prison. He struck the invisible force barrier less than a heartbeat later and the force of this collision ruptured thousands of projection nodes. Lar struck almost a full second later, collapsing the entire network with his impact.

"Go for the guns!" he bellowed before diving toward the central compound of the prison camp. Kal let himself consider the wisdom of letting his friend smash ahead – thanks to a month-long visit to a planet orbiting a yellow star (mostly to conduct unexpected repairs on their captured starship), his power levels was quite substantial and he'd taken to flying a lot better than Kal expected – and then obeyed. He arced downward, then quickly leveled out as he flashed over the camp's defensive wall, blasting through the massive cannon emplacements or frying their focusing lenses so they could not fire.

He heard the assault ships land and the commando teams deploy – Lustig was leading a pretty effective attack, but the Dominator defenders weren't giving ground easily – and, the moment he tore through the last of the guns, he blurred toward the hottest fighting. Energy blasts peppered the crimson tunic he wore, but Kal ignored the sharp stings as he darted forward, smashing a fist through one of the heavier weapons emplacements and turning another to ash with his heat vision. A shout went up – Shamarra and her team of genetically modified humans had arrived like the proverbial cavalry – and Kal _pushed _against the planetary gravity, soaring up once more into the sky. He hovered there for a second, straining his senses for further danger, and then dove toward the hole Lar had already made.

As before, when he and Lar stumbled upon the first of these horrific camps, he fought back a terrible rage at the sight before him. A vast tank dominated the massive room, connected to the various computers and medical equipment by things that looked more like branches than cables. A viscous green liquid filled the tank, making it hard to see exactly it was that was inside, but a sweep of the contents with his enhanced vision confirmed his worst thoughts.

Humans. These monsters were experimenting on humans.

Shamarra was one of their more successful subjects and she'd used her cryokinesis to make an escape. She'd long since given up on going back to her homeworld – Earth, it was called, and the name was tantalizingly familiar to Kal-El for some reason – and had joined up with the rebels to dish out as much pain to her former captors as she could manage. Thus far, Kal hadn't interacted with her much – Lar did most of the talking principally because he already knew this Interlac language that everybody seemed to use; sadly, the wine that had allowed Kal to communicate with the Daxamites hadn't seemed to help much with other languages – but she looked at him funny from time to time, as if she wanted to ask him something.

"How's the extraction coming?" Kal asked as he touched down next to Lar. The younger man grimaced – neither of them had shaved in the last several weeks and the beard growing in on Lar lent him an ominous aspect.

"Difficult," came his tight response. Kal nodded – each of the subjects who _could _be extracted from the tank without threatening their lives was, but Lar had to operate slowly. Each subject required individual attention and more than a few could not be removed from this mutagenic compound without instantly dying. One of the Dominator rebels, a scientist who they'd rescued from a different prison camp weeks earlier, had instructed them to terminate any of those poor unfortunates and Lar stared at the screen with a conflicted expression.

"Follow your gut," Kal told him. From the look he received, the intent behind the expression had not translated to Daxamite well. "Do what your instincts tell you, Brother," Kal said. Lar nodded.

And moved on to the next subject without terminating this one.

The freed subjects had a wide range of enhanced abilities and every single one of them pledged to stand with the rebels against the Dominators' rule. As before, more than a few looked at Kal oddly, whispering among themselves about how much he looked like some hero they called Superman. To his surprise, he could understand these newly empowered humans perfectly while Lar looked on in confusion and, for a change, the circumstances were turned on their head.

"I was captured by the Khunds when they hit Earth," was the most common explanation for how these shell-shocked men and women found themselves here, on the homeworld of these damned Dominators.

"We need to accelerate our time table," Kal told Lar a little while later. They were alone in the large conference room for the moment. "Their ruling caste isn't going to let us keep liberating these camps without throwing something really heavy at us."

"Agreed." Lar smirked. "I've been wondering when I should mention it, but I think we need to hit someplace really big. Maybe even their capital." His smiled dropped away. "Have you noticed how the humans look at you, Kal?"

"I have." Kal-El slumped back against the wall. "And I understand their language too."

"So, Superman." Lar snickered. "It's a little pretentious, isn't it?" Kal smirked.

"Coming from the guy that Shamarra is calling Valor," he said, "that means exactly nothing." He laughed at the sheepish expression that flashed across his friend's face. "It doesn't matter if I'm who they think I am," he said. "I'm not budging from this rock until we stop these lunatics from experimenting on more helpless people."

"That could take a while," Lar said. "556 thinks the ruling caste are working with someone or something else called the Construct." He crossed his arms. "Strange name, though. I think it's an organization or guild, not a single entity."

"A matter for another time," Kal said. He flashed a smile. "I'm going into orbit to get a recharge."

"Hold on," Lar said as he grabbed his cape. "I could do with one myself."

Once in orbit, Kal-El instantly felt the effect of the solar radiation on his body. The exhaustion that had been riding his shoulders for the last several days vanished in an instant and he felt his muscles quiver with newfound strength. It wasn't all good, though. The old scars on his back and torso ached like he was bathing in acid. He grimaced and concentrated instead on the warmth of the sun.

And when his lungs burned from lack of oxygen, he let himself fall back toward the ugly planet below.

There was still much work to do.

* * *

**A/N #2: **In case you're wondering about what happened to Kal in that first scene, yes. Your worst fears are probably right. This wasn't a happy place for him.

Obviously, Bruce Wayne: Murderer takes place here but is different. Probably because my Bruce has Selina around to keep him from making unbelievably stupid decisions like he did in BW: Fugitive.

Kaldur is very obviously based on the Young Justice cartoon version of Aqualad who was just awesome.

The last scene is based on LSH Annual #2 back in '91, titled "The Legend of Valor." Those of you not super familiar with DC history will have a whale of a time figuring out Lar Gand.


End file.
